Six
by awesomesen
Summary: As if boys and summer school and friendships turned to rivalries weren't bad enough, Pan finds herself locked in a struggle to save the world from—a statue? And where does Goten fit into all this? Eventual T/P.
1. An Unexpected Meeting

**_author's note:_**_ this is version two of this chapter. it's virtually identical; i just cleaned up some of the grammar here and there. and re-uploaded it on august 11th. there are a few minor plot related changes—that is to say, when i first started this story a year ago, i didn't know exactly where it was going and i have it much better plotted now, so i wanted to edit a few things to reflect that._

_a few notes that don't belong in the summary but still bear mentioning—the main character is pan, with goten as leading man (in a non-romantic fashion, obviously). trunks, bra, and marron are the main supporting cast in roughly that order. There's T/P eventually. who the others end up with is... a mystery? (well, i know, but...) the story takes place two years after DBGT, and i follow canon as closely as i can with the exception of ignoring the 100-years-later!! epilogue. oh, and, "hirayachi" is an okinawan dish._

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It is summer and the city blazes with it. The traffic is as thick as the air, and the women are all dressed in skirts and cleavage. Even she tries, pulling up her skirt to allow maximum leg, tugging the creases out of her tank-top to highlight what little figure she has—Pan is sixteen now, golden as she'll ever be, arrogant in her youth and figure. Or lack of. She tries to find a casual way to run her hands over her breasts, trying to stick the cloth of her tank to skin. Years of martial arts training has ruined her chances for cleavage, perhaps permanently. Breasts are fat, and there is little to no fat anywhere on Son Pan's body. Good for her stomach. Bad for her chest.

Having done as best she can, she walks down the street away from school. Saunters. Meanders. Walks in that way only sixteen-year-old girls can, at the peak of their arrogance. At sixteen, all girls think that they are sexy and special and the center of the world—even alien girls, strange girls, girls a year behind in high school because she took off into space for a year a while back. Repeating a year of junior high wasn't the solution, not in the minds of Papa and Grandma: this was how Pan found her way into summer school.

"Yo! Son!" Hirayachi, largely considered to be the most popular boy in Satan City, heads towards Pan, jogging slightly in a cool sort of way; he's not jogging to hurry to her, because that would be _un_cool, but he's jogging, and towards her, and his hair is the color of a tropical lagoon in sunshine — or so Pan thinks, and she's had a crush on him for days now. Hira is also a martial arts fan. "I'm glad I caught up with you. Class sucked today, huh? It's too hot, I can't think in a stuffy old room. What are you doing? Going to visit your, uh, grandfather?"

Hira is a martial arts fan; Hira is a Mr. Satan fan. He claims to have seen almost every _tenka'ichi bodoukai _of the last fifty years, mostly through tapes, but he had been in attendance personally for the last one, the one Pan had fought in—she hardly remembers the tournament, doesn't think about it much... #17 had gone bad after that, she remembers... that whole time, that year before Grandpa died is all very vague to her now. But Hirayachi had seen her compete in that tournament, and Hirayachi had sought her out after her first day of summer school.

"I'm not doing anything," she says, glad that she has just finished prettying herself. "My uncle is supposed to pick me up, and we're going shopping." When it comes to her, Goten has always been very pliable. She had mentioned she needed new clothes and just like that he had offered to bring her around Satan City: Pan is used to his spoiling of her and never thinks about why.

"Your uncle? Hira seems disappointed. "Is he... your grandfather's son?"

"No, he's my dad's younger brother," Pan says, knowing which grandfather Hira had meant. She can tell he's losing interest; Hira never hides the fact that he hero worships her maternal grandfather, Champion Of The World. "Goten. He's really—" she waves a hand. "He's like thirty, he's almost thirty, but he still acts like a kid. Dates girls like he's in high school—_junior_ high school, you know, picking them up and them dumping them again. He's a _total _manwhore, even worse than actual guys my... age..." Backpedal, backpedal! "But he's not so bad. He's nice to me, anyway."

Hira makes a vague sound to indicate he is still listening, but Pan has lost him. "Hey... Son... I was wondering..." he says slowly, looking her in the eyes. Looking down to do so—she hasn't quite hit her growth spurt yet, she's more than short she's _tiny_—ohhhh, his eyes are blue. Pan stares back, more than willing to lose herself in them, so to speak. _This is a romantic moment! _she exclaims in her head—it's hard for her to find a boyfriend, because boys her age tend to be stupid... Pan likes older guys, they're much cooler—but Hirayachi is cool—and cute—and into martial arts—most boys hate knowing she could beat them up, but he—oh, blue eyes blue eyes blue—

"...Could you maybe introduce me to Mr. Satan sometime?" She is too swept up in the moment to refuse—she nods and he grins down at her. _Down_ at her—and Hira is a little on the short side himself! Life is desperately unfair—_except for right now_! "Really! Wow, you're the greatest, Son—I mean, Pan...? Is that alright? Pan-chan?"

"That's fine," she says, blushing now. "Most people call me that anyway."

He grins at her, overcome with affection—she who will help him meet his hero, she who is awesome, she who he _totally _is showing a romantic interest in: Pan doesn't even mind being manipulated like this, taken advantage of like this, because Hirayachi is cool and _likes her_. "I can see why!" he is saying, jolly now. "You're really quite cute, Pan-chan. I saw you in that tournament, but standing next to you now I can barely remember you're so good at fighting. You must get it from your grandfather!" It is a shining compliment, she is the coolest person he knows. Pan nods—she did get 'it' from her grandfather, although not the one Hira was thinking of.

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"Hirayachi, _huh_?" Goten considers this. "Isn't that one of those food dishes from the South Islands?" He had arrived just in time to see Pan and Hira part ways, Hira needing to catch the train back home—he had also been witness to the quick, friendly hug Hira had bestowed upon Pan before running off, and hadn't shut up about it since.

Pan looks at the shoes on display as though they are the most important things ever. They are green high-tops: functional, on the cheap end, and probably utterly hideous to all of the Bras of the world. Behind her, checking out passerby as he talked, Goten continued his ribbing of his niece. "I dunno, Pan-chan, he is pretty cute—but what would _niichan_ say? You're supposed to be studying, not dating, and I bet that you didn't notice that Hiyarachi-_kun_—" the mispronunciation intentional— "looks a lot like Trunks does, if Trunks was still sixteen and had green hair. And wasn't a dork," Goten adds fondly.

Pan _has _noticed this, and her face burns. The two of them don't look much alike—side by side they would appear to have nothing in common—but there's a slight overlay, a similarity of noses and mouths, the placement of the eyes. But Pan has considered herself over her crush on Trunks for a year and a half now—she scolds herself for it, because it _was _stupid of her—it was only because of that year, that vague year—but Goten knows of the former crush, and teases her about it whenever he can. The only mercy is that he withholds from it when others are around.

"I want these shoes," she announces.

"Good choice, nice color," Goten says, teasing her a little. He pats her on the head. "They'll make you a good inch taller, _chibi-chibi_." He towers over her—she barely reaches his shoulder, and she's wearing tall army boots. The old nickname makes her shove him, and he stumbles backwards: she's shorter, but when it comes down to it among their families height is merely an ascetic. _Kuririn-san and Vegeta-san are also short_, she reminds herself. But Bra, a year younger, is much taller. It's just not fair.

"Don't worry, _chibi-chan_, you'll grow eventually. And I'm sure Hiya-kun likes you no matter how microscopically small you—" Goten falters off in the middle of his punch-line, staring off into the mall. It is a weekday but the building is still crowded with people escaping the summer heat, and Goten has evidentially discovered one person in the crowd he rather wouldn't—to judge by the tightness of his lips and the way his _chi _has increased—ever so slightly, hardly noticeable, just enough to indicate tension. Pan senses her opportunity to dig at her uncle for once—_Chibi-chan _indeed!

"What, an ex-girlfriend? Which one? You go through a lot, I can't even remem—"

"Shut up, Pan," Goten says, still staring at that one spot. Annoyed—and a little hurt—and offended—Pan follows his gaze, looking for anything troubling in the crowd of shoppers. The store is opposite a small sitting area; potted trees and benches. There's a young couple with a child—there's a pair of pretty, giggling girls, but Pan's age—too young for Goten to care—a cool looking boy—an elderly man, eighty at least... some people walking by, but it can't be one of them... a woman with three children, the oldest no more than ten...that cool looking boy, leaning against a decorative pillar... dressed like a punk with excessive chain... long black hair...

"Oh," Pan says, because that's all she can think of. _Oh_. What a weak sentiment. Not even one with an explanation point, just a little word, one step above a sigh... the cool boy... he's not cool at all, she thinks with sharp loyal anger—he stands up and walks over to them, casual, they've been gawking long enough that he's noticed and he probably recognizes them, too—or maybe not—but—

"Relax," he drawls when he's close enough: "I'm not going to do anything."

"Like you didn't do anything two years ago?" Goten is terrible, however, at sounding threatening. He is no leader, he is no attacker. He manages to sound confrontational, but just barely.

"Hey," the cool boy says. "That wasn't me. Anyway, didn't Son Goku wish for only the good people to come back to life?" he smirks, raises his hands to show them his empty palms, some strange symbol of arrogant good-will. "Signed and sealed. One genuinely _good _person." _Jinzouningen Juunana-gou_ curls his fingers into fists, palms still up, and grins. "How's _neesan_?"

His coolness has grown irritating already. "Fine, no thanks to you," Goten says, as Pan's mind twists on itself; this is _him_, this is #17, the same one from before—or—perhaps not the _same _one, but this is #17, and she remembers—losing to him, yes, but more than that—the news that Kuririn-_ojisan _was dead, the battle, the panic—she remembers Marron-san, crouched over and shaking—shaking so much she looked like she would fall apart—sobbing, blotching—_I just ran, I'm so stupid, Momma—and Poppa—I just ran, I just ran, I just—_and Pan remembers her _Baasan_... her mouth thin and stern, holding Marron by the shoulders, telling her it wasn't her fault, that everything was going to be okay... making it sound like a lecture... and Marron had collapsed, crying, into _Baasan'_s embrace... Bra-chan had been there, too, as pale as Pan had been... more pale, because Pan had been hurt then, badly hurt... thinking of herself... all because of him. Because of #17.

Of course Goten knows all this, too, and by merit of their ages he's always been closer to Marron—to Marron and Kuririn-_ojisan_ and the other adults—than Pan. "Look," #17 was saying, cooly, "I'm trying to be friendly. You're a Son, right? One of them." He says it with a dismissive flap of his hand. "Doesn't Goku tell you guys anything? I was fucking possessed. And now I'm back thanks to you guys, so that ain't my fault, either."

"So what, you're the victim? Everything in your life is just—because of someone else? Don't be stupid," Goten says, struggling to make his point—he's not stupid, Pan knows that, but he can't word things sometimes, match vowels to feelings.

"Whatever," #17 says, rolling his eyes. "Who're you?" he nods at Pan, hands on his hips aggressively. He looks her over briefly, and then again, more slowly, when he sees Goten's glare.

"Pan," she says. "Son."

"Oh, sure," #17 says. "I didn't know that that Gohan kid had a sister, too. Sure. Well, nice meeting you—" he made a little saluting wave of his fingers— "But I'll be on my way again."

"If that's the case, why the hell did you stop to chat in the first place?" Goten asks, brow creased. It is very clear that Goten doesn't like #17, uncomfortably so, but the punk-cyborg doesn't seem to notice—or care.

"It coulda been anyone. I wanted to make clear... that I wasn't going to do anything. This is my declaration of peace," #17 replies grandly, an arrogant little asshole to the last.

"So you want everyone to know you're back, and alive, but you aren't planning on doing anything—why even say it, then? It's not like anyone gives a crap about you. I'd be happier thinking you were still dead," Goten says. To Pan's mild alarm—or amusement—they are fighting in the most civil tones. "You just want attention."

"One crook knows another," #17 retorts. "I guess I'm not as strong as the top tier anymore, but I was built to kill 'Super Saiyan.' Wanna have a go? See how we manage?"

"Shut _up_!" Pan yells—too loudly—the people walking by, shopping obliviously, not knowing that the two men are fighting or that the two men between them could destroy the world—literally, not metaphorically—in a few minutes, if they choose to make that effort. They don't know, but Pan does, and she's scared—and frustrated. #17, for all of his reputation of _being evil_—Marron, Marron, Marron!—is proving to be an annoying windbag. And his remark about crooks hit home—Goten is growing visibly angry now. "First of all," Pan says, whirling on #17— "Son Gohan is my dad, not my older brother. It's been like, thirty years since the Cell Games." This is just something that has been bugging her since he said it; with that fact laid out, she continues: "No one cares about you, so shut up." Goten's mouth twitches: Pan is on a roll. "You keep saying stuff and trying to be cool, but you aren't, and we don't care. If there's something you want, say it—" she doubts this very much— "and if not, go away and stay gone."

#17 frowns and then looks away. "Do either of you know my sister?"

"Both of us," Goten says—"she's a family friend. Unlike you, she's—" a rare burst of tact—or unwillingness to swear in front of his niece—cuts him off.

"Then tell her I'm alive," #17 says, "and living in the old house. And that..." he seems close to an apology—close to a something, anyway, something to make him visibly nervous—

"Tell her yourself," Goten says, both kindly and cruelly—"I'm not gonna pass messages from someone like you. If you want to tell her so bad, tell her in person."

"What's wrong with you?" Pan asks suddenly; seeing #17 distracted and—and strange—and different... not the sort of person who destroys things, kills people... not a person at all, but still... "My dad says you were supposed to be as arrogant as h—as anything. And you never visited #18-san before." That one hits home and he glares, more angry than is warranted—it is a very clean blow.

"You told me to shut up, so I will," #17 says with the haughtiness of a very young child indeed—the impression is only added upon when he turns on his heels and all but stomps off.

The remaining two watch him go with matching—although they are thankfully unaware of this—blank faces. "Man, don't you wish we lived normal lives?" Goten says at last, before turning the conversation back again to shoes.

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	2. Suspect Motivation

_**author's note:**__ this is version two of chapter two. while much remains the same, i cleaned up the grammar and combined the second scene with one from chapter three. basically i'm re-vamping the story so that the chapters are both longer and flow together better. there are no huge changes, so don't feel as though you have to read it all over again._

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"Do you really think it's OK?" Pan asks a few days—closer to a week—later. It is evening at her grandmother'shouse, just before dinner—Pan has never been a good cook, no matter how much she tries, and eventually her parents and grandmother took to shutting her out of the kitchen entirely while the process is underway. Goten is not much of a cook either, and uncle and niece sit together on the couch, staring at the television without really taking it in. It could be off; they wouldn't notice the difference.

She is, of course, speaking of #17. Pan has thought about it a lot, in off moments—lying in bed before sleep, unfocused in class—the whole thing started and ended so quickly, so loosely—no resolution, no understanding, just a random event, a random meeting of an old friend... and old friend that had killed a city... had been at the centre of an exodus out of Hell... was it really alright? Was it really alright to meet him and argue—a weak fight at that, no one had managed to be all that cutting—and leave him, or let him leave, without telling anyone? Pan had gone along with Gotenat first, but now she is having doubts.

"Huh?" Goten asks, not having been listening and unable to read his niece's thoughts. He's been playing with his cell phone, staring into space; probably thinking over some girlfriend, Pan figures, since she's never seen him use the mobile for anything else.

"#17. Do you really think it's OK just to..." Pan struggles to find the words, and then gives up. "You know. Let him do whatever without telling anybody."

"Don't worry about it," Goten says. "Anyway, I told Trunks-kun and #18." Telling Trunks made sense in Pan's mind — she has never known them to keep anything from one another, even though she's heard they've grown somewhat distant in adulthood. But #18 is a mystery. Not because of the connection to #17—that much was obvious—but—that Goten would seek her out, tell her. That he would be that... responsible. Pan stifles a giggle at how that thought comes out: it's not that Goten isn't... responsible... but... somehow thinking of the word attached to him, her feckless... playboy uncle...

"What a leadery thing to say," she giggles at last. He doesn't pretend to follow her logic and sends her a cursory dirty look.

"He was looking for her, I think," Goten explains. "It's weird. I don't like him. But it's such a human thing."

"Not liking him?" Now it is Pan that doesn't follow the logic.

"He wanted to see his sister," Goten says simply. "He wanted to let his sister know he was alright. Isn't that—so normal? #17... isn't... I think the last time he was in contact with everyone was when I was a _kid_. Right after Mr. Buu, there was this thing... or _Otousan _said something..." Goten shook his head, unsure. "But he's never been in contact with anyone that I can remember. He's never given a crap about #18. So I thought it was weird, that he'd worry about her."

"Worry?" Pan echoes, feeling doubtful.

"Don't just say whatever I say," Goten replies with a bit of a grin. "Anyway, I told #18. She didn't really _react_, but I guess she doesn't usually. So there's no need to worry about it anymore, _chibi_. It's no longer in our hands."

"OK." Pan is quiet for all of five minutes. Then: "How did #18 act?"

"...Like #18." His grin widens. "She blinked at me, looked at me like I was a retard, and then went away. I didn't expect anything else, did you?"

"Doesn't she care a little?" Pan asks, a little outraged on the behalf of—well, she didn't know on whose behalf, but she was pretty sure that stronger emotions than disinterest were warranted.

"Probably. But why would she tell me about it?" Goten shrugs. "Anyway, it's none of our business anymore."

"...I guess," Pan sighs. It isn't until much later that she realizes that she had wanted it to be.

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For some reason, Goten's mispronunciation of Hirayachi's name catches in Pan's mind. They have been together for fifteen minutes and she's already almost called him Hiya-kun twice.

It has been six days since she and her uncle ran into #17 at the Satan City mall, and Pan is fulfilling her promise to Hira. The city is still in the clutches of a heat wave, and she had used it as an excuse to dress in slightly less clothing than she usually would—a rather small pair of shorts and a rather tight tank-top. If Hira has noticed this, however, he's keeping it silent. He's not keeping much else silent, though. "So, so you really are going to introduce me to Mr Satan? I mean, in person? Like, to talk with?" Hiya—that is, Hira—was turning out to be prone to rambling. Pan doesn't mind, since she's rather prone to that as well, but she wishes all the same that he would talk about something other than her famous grandfather.

"Of course you can talk to him," Pan says instead of any of this. She isn't faking it when she grins at him; she wishes he'd talk about her, but she isn't stupid enough to turn down the one good looking boy in her class that also likes martial arts and doesn't seem scared of the fact that she does, too. "_Ojiichan _is really nice. He'll be thrilled to meet you!" _Thrilled _also meant _glad to meet a new fan_. Mr Satan was still Champion Of The World, but he was also nearly seventy. When his plans to instate Pan herself onto his championship throne failed, he had become somewhat disheartened, spending much of his time watching old movies of the past.

"What's he like? In person, I mean." Hira turns to Pan, suddenly nervous. Since Pan has never learned to drive (why drive when you can fly?), and Hira has no car, they have been walking through the city to Mr Satan's Dojo. As they wait for a light to change so they can cross the street, Pan considers. "Well. He's very friendly and good-natured, and kinda loud." she giggles. "He's always spoiled me quite a bit! Goten-kunthinks he's annoying, but I think Grampsis like a big—" _teddy bear_, she had been about to say, but Hira looked less than impressed by her description. He wasn't so interested in Mr Satan the grandfather of Pan; he was more taken with Mr Satan the hero, savior of the world. "—Anyway, he's getting old, but he still trains every day, and... studies past battles and stuff." That seemed a good way of describing his poring over of tournament footage from years past. "He'll like you."

The light changed. "I wanted to thank you again, Pan-chan," Hira says cheerfully. "I've admired Mr Satan since—oh, I don't know. Since I was a kid. I mean, you watch the tournaments, and a lot of the fighters seem so—standoffish, you know? Even though they're good, they seem to have this aura of—I don't know. Seriousness. Like since they're so good, they're above the rest of us. Mr Satan isn't like that. He _always _makes a point of remembering his fans, you know, admitting that we're there. Some of the other old fighters—it's like a clique, or something." Hira laughs. "Like those girls in school, not talking to anyone but themselves."

That's a new point of view. Pan has always considered Kuririn and Bulma-san's families to be part of hers, in a way; not related, but as much a part of her life as her own uncle and parents and grandparents. Same with Yamucha-san and the others—what point did tournaments have but to bring everyone together, let them spar, eat, and share stories about the past? There was an audience, sure, but weren't they mostly a nuisance, forcing them to hold back, follow arbitrary rules—creating rules, too, like "under fifteens must fight in their own tournament"—and recording everything? Wasn't that all annoying? Pan's never bothered thinking about the audience before.

"It's only because they're serious about martial arts!" Pan protests. "It's a fighting tournament, not a popularity contest. What's wrong with—actually fighting?"

"Nothing." Hira frowns at her. "Of course I watch the tournaments to see the fighting. But it's more fun if you have someone to root for—you know? Like, if it's not just 'Person A' and 'Person B'. Mr Satan—he's easy to cheer for. The other fighters that always show up, they're always there, but they never talk to anyone. They usually disrupt things, too."

"You're talking about my family, you know," Pan says angrily. "So what if we don't show off? So what if—"

"See!" Hira looks triumphant rather than surprised. "See? I didn't even know that. I'm talking to you about these people and they're your _family_, and I don't even know that because you guys are—elitist. Or something." Hira waves his hand, dismissing it. "Pan-chan. I think you're really good at martial arts, and I admire you for that." A few moments ago this would have sent her into a happy fit of blushing, but Pan is annoyed. "But I _don't _like how the tournaments are, when you're fighting. Sure, you're good, but the audience is there for a reason. If you don't want to show off to us, then just fight at home."

Pan grits her teeth and doesn't reply—and to think! She had liked him! But all the same, even angry, she had to admit—not that he was right, but he had something—there weren't a lot of guys that liked martial arts enough for this. She bites her tongue and doesn't retort, not wanting to blow her chances. But still. How much patience is she expected to have? Pan isn't very good at keeping her mouth shut, normally, and she isn't sure how long she can keep it up. "It's tradition," she says finally, "And anyway, it's not about showing off for anyone. The audience is just a nuisance. It's about proving yourself."

"Which is why you dropped out in the last one?" Hira says cuttingly; Pan whirls around at him in a blind rage that she quickly suppresses.

"I did that because I don't want to be World Champion! For your information my family has been letting Grandpa Satanwin for years and years because we don't want idiot fans after us!" she snaps - it is a secret, one of the deepest besides the ones that involve aliens - but she feels defensive and inferior, can't believe Hira's gall.

Hira looks at her, angry but silent, and this time she isn't distracted by his looks or eyes. "Bullshit," he says after several minutes.

"Oh, like hell it is," Pan hisses in reply; she lowers her voice because they are on the street, people passing them, and she knows she shouldn't talk about this to a stranger - for that is what Hira is, really, no matter how good-looking and popular in school. "Think about it. Isn't it a little weird that my seventy-year-old _grandfather _keeps winning? Most serious fighters retire in their fifties at the latest."

"He's Champion of the World! He defeated Cell!" Hira isn't aware this is a secret subject, and doesn't bother lowering his voice: but she has him, Pan thinks. He's frowning, but there's a bit of doubt in there. He's a martial arts fan and he knows the rules, the statistics, the facts. "He's stronger than most people. It makes sense that he can delay his retirement."

Pan _doesn't _say anything about the Cell Games, she's not that stupid or that angry. "Sure it does," she agrees. "But have you looked at the matches he's had? Isn't it a little weird that he knocks out everyone he meets in the final round with a single punch, no matter _how _crazy the fighting was in earlier rounds? I mean, even though he's the _champion _and the _strongest_, you'd still think it would take a little, tiny bit of effort from a _sixty-eight year old_."

Hira stares at her, lips twitching as he bites back whatever he had wanted to say; oh, she has him, but to her slight dismay, he's looking more hurt than anything else—losing an argument is never graceful, but he's not even angry. The truth of her words is starting to sink in and, Pan realizes, this means that he is having doubts about his idol and hero. She suddenly feels badly for him, but it's too late now.

"We let him win," she says. "My family. Dad's side, I mean. Like you said, he's good with crowds and fans. We're just too—too 'elitist,'" copying Hira's word, "for that."

He looks as though he wants to say something, but won't or can't; he breaks eye contact with Pan abruptly, swinging his head to the side and frowning at the sidewalk. "Forget it," he said, still angry in defeat. "Forget taking me to meet Mr Satan."

"Disenchanted?" Pan asks and regrets it immediately, sharply; she is pushing things too far, now. Hira snaps his face back up at her, and on some sort of angry reflex makes as though to hit her. It would have been to fast to see for a normal person; or maybe just slow enough that they could flinch. Pan does neither, just stares calmly at him.

_He _regrets his action immediately, even though his fist stopped short of her face; it's generally frowned upon to hit others, hit girls, even though Pan doesn't mind it one bit when people react with violence so long as she can return the favor. "I don't want to go anywhere with _you_," he clarifies, cold. And then, inexplicably and perhaps only out of habit, he adds: "See you in school tomorrow," before turning and walking back in the way they'd come.

She has also lost all her desire to see her grandfather. Pan watches Hira until he's lost in the crowd of passerby, stands still for a minute after that, then goes the same way that Hira had, not with the intention of finding him, but in the intention of finding some tall building somewhere to climb to the roof of and from there, fly home. _No wonder I never seem to find a boyfriend, _Pan thinks to herself. If she hadn't been so annoyed, it would have been dry.

Half-way up the stairs of an apartment building—thirty-five stories tall, more than high enough to be out of sight of the streets when she took off flying—Pan realizes she is being followed. It is a long walk to the roof although not tiring—hardly anything involving physical activity is tiring to her thanks to her Saiyan blood. But the person following her is clearly losing their breath. She thinks it's a boy from the sound and the heaviness of the footsteps; Pan's first thought is that it's Hira, come to apologize or—or something. She doubts it's a resident, as a building this tall has several elevators. Hira it is, she decides—

—then she turns around to see. About two floors down the stairs, a boy with black hair is following her. Hira's is teal, and besides that, although he's a human with no martial arts training, Hira has a detectable _chi_. Pan is not particularly close to Kuririnand his family, but she knows enough about #18 to know her _chi _is permanently masked—besides that, it's been less than a week since Pan met #17 in the shopping mall, and she hasn't forgotten it.

"Are you stalking me?" Pan calls down to him. Oddly, she's almost happy to see him again; #17's been in the back of her mind, despite the conversation she had with Goten—she can't let it go, the weirdness, the lack of resolution, the thin, addictive hope that this might mean she can adventure and save the world again.

"No," #17 calls back in a retort. "I just like climbing stairs."

"You're pretty out of shape," Pan remarks, because #17 is another one of those people who shouldn't be affected anymore by mundane physical activity.

"Fuck you," he replies, stopping his climbing to catch his breath. Pan rolls her eyes and hops over the railing of the stairwell, falling-flying down two floors to meet him at his level, floating in midair in the square-shaped hole between all the stair-cases. He looks her over. "Why didn't you just fly to the top?"

"Why didn't you?" Pan asks, sitting cross-legged in mid-air. It really made no difference what position she was in in terms of the technical aspect of releasing her _chi _to fly; it's just more comfortable to sit, even on nothing.

#17 rolls his eyes expressively and sits down on the stairs. "Because I can't anymore," he says. "Can't do anything related to _chi_. It was one of the terms of my—" he cuts himself off and looks at Pan. "So."

"I didn't fly because people might be watching," Pan says. #17 raises his eyebrows slightly at that and she knows he has a point—she's not exactly inconspicuous like this. "Plus—I dunno. Walking is better for thinking. Why can't you fly anymore?"

"I told you," #17 says darkly. "I can't fly, can't fight, nothing. I'm physically incapable of it. It was a condition of my reincarnation."

"I thought you said the dragonballs..." Pan had the feeling #17 was being too vague, or telling the middle of the story without the beginning.

"Yeah, whatever," he replies, unhelpful.

"Then why don't you have a _chi_?" Pan asks.

"Dunno. I guess it's built in." #17 didn't seem thrilled that the conversation was going down this path; he looked away briefly, and then back at her stonily. "And before you ask, yeah I was following you. That was another term of my reincarnation."

"Could you get to the point?" Pan asks, standing back up—as it were—in the air and putting her hands on her hips.

He sighs in a purely frustrated manner. "The dragonballs didn't bring me back to life. They would have, but the guys up there," he waved his hand skyward, "said I had another choice, too. To be brought back to life in another way. They'd turn me back into a pure human, give me life, and send me back to Earth. Took away my powers, too, and gave me a mission. If I do everything perfect, then, when I die again—of old age or whatever—I get fast-tracked to my choice of heavens, no matter what my record is."

Pan takes a minute, and then another, to figure this all out. "So why'd you say yes?" She couldn't imagine living a life with no ability to fly, no strength, and she can't imagine the fabled arrogance of #17 could put up with it, either.

"Did you hear me?" #17 looks at her like she's an idiot. "Forget a clean slate, this gives me a guaranteed ticket to whatever version of heaven I desire, no matter what I do. I've died enough times by now to be sick of—" he shakes his head. Pan's never died, she's in the minority for it, and she wonders briefly what sort of afterlives #17's experienced so far. "The human part kinda sucks, but there are other benefits."

"Like emotions?" That's a completely random shot, but it seems to fit snugly. #18 isn't mean, but she's cold and distant and doesn't seem able to help it. #17 has proven himself in this week to be loud, an idiot, talkative, easily annoyed, facially expressive, and... well, emotional.

He shrugs when she says it. "No. None of your business."

Pan resists the urge to make a face and regards him silently. Now that she's begun comparing him to his sister, it's hard to stop, and she's never known him in person before now—doesn't know how he should act or look or _be_—but if #18 is a guide, it's more than just personality. He doesn't look like her, not only in coloring—his face is sharp, but his eyes aren't as distant and cold as hers. His nose is a little crooked. His lips are chapped, his hair is messy, his fingernails short and uneven. #18 is _perfect, _frighteningly so, all her features even and beautiful—Pan's been jealous, once or twice—and #17 quite simply isn't. Good looking, Pan realizes acutely, almost jealous—why is _everyone else _in the universe prettier than her?—very good looking, in fact, but humanly so.

"So... why were you following me?" Pan asks, realizing slowly that he never really told her.

#17 shrugs yet again. "Didn't I tell you? I have a mission. A fucking _destiny_, as I've been informed. If I don't do it, the deal's revoked."

"Right, I _got _that," Pan says, frowning a bit and floating closer to him, all the better to loom over him with. "Why follow _me_?"

"Because," #17 says grandly, ironically, and making a sweeping gesture with one hand, "My mission is to save your life."

"Oh, well," she says. "Okay then." Pan stares at #17, feeling somehow winded—and then she wants to laugh, wants to fall over giggling, because she didn't know what she had been expecting, but this was the last thing anyway, and because the idea, the—the _idea_. #17. Saving her. A destiny. Which was best? Which was worst? Her eyes start to water.

He doesn't seem offended. His mouth twitches in what could be the start of a smirk or even an honest smile; then he controls it. "Yeah," he says, "no shit."

"It's just—" Pan can't even explain. She shakes her head and bites her lip. "Why _you_? Why me?"

"I don't know. But I was kinda hoping," he is sarcastic, but only slightly, "that you could just try jumping off a building or something. To get this over with."

"At the mall, were you looking for me?" Pan asks, almost before he finishes speaking. He doesn't nod or answer, but he looks away a little, and she takes that for a yes. "Wait, so, if you're supposed to save me, how come you didn't even know anything about me? You thought my dad was my _brother_."

"I knew your _name_," #17 says, curt. "They didn't give me a copy of your family tree along with it."

Pan thinks about it, still cross-legged in midair, and he watches her from the stairs. It's hard to think about, really hard, because she also isn't sure what she should think about it, what there is to think about. Like if her father suddenly announced he was going to get back into fighting. Or if _jiichan _returned from the dead as a genius. Just _weird_. Just _beyond understanding_. "So you save my life and it's an automatic pass into heaven?" #17 raises his eyebrows; she takes it as a yes again. "So... how come I'm so important, all of a sudden?"

"I don't know," #17 says flatly, and she believes him. She doesn't know if he's lying about the rest of it—it's been crisscrossing her mind—but she believes this: that if it's true, he doesn't know the details of how or why.

"How are you supposed to save me if you can't use _chi _to fight or fly?" Pan asks. This seems like the biggest problem in the whole story. Pan knows, grudgingly, that she's not the strongest; of all those with Saiyan blood, Pan knows that she's the weakest next to Bra (who doesn't even _count_). But the weakest of the best fighters in the universe ever, that's not something to look down on. She's more than capable of taking care of herself, much more than. She can't see how a powerless human (if that's what #17 really is) could possibly save her life.

#17 seems to have a fair idea of the path of her thoughts; he gives her a rather annoyed look. "I never said it made sense. It's just what the guys up there told me. I want the reward, so I figure I'll go along with it. If it's my 'destiny,' it'll just happen, right?" Pan nods in agreement; he nods back at her impatiently. "So I figure there's not a hell of a lot of a point to thinking about it. It'll happen on it's own. But if you wanted to try and fall off a building or something to hurry it along..."

"Even if I did, that wouldn't kill me," Pan points out. "If I fell funny I might break a couple of bones, but even so." _Another _question hits. "So what, are you going to follow me around until my life is saved?"

"I'm not thrilled about it either."

"If it's destiny, then when the time comes, you'll be around me anyway," Pan says hopefully. This idea isn't a very agreeable one; she really, really doesn't want him around her. He gives her a bad feeling, even if she doesn't think he could hurt her (even if he is lying about his powers). And the things he's _done, _and besides, what on earth will her family say? Yeah, that'll go over well, she's sure.

"Yeah, but if I stick around you, maybe it'll come around quicker and this is over sooner. I can be rid of you and go back to living—" He shrugs as he cuts himself off. Closes his eyes.

"I was just about to head home," Pan starts to say.

"You really don't seem all that shook up about this," #17 points out, cracking open one blue eye.

"...I'm not. I guess." It's her turn to shrug. "I mean, I _am, _but it's not like you can seriously do anything to me." He looks annoyed at her observation, but lets her continue. "And since you're alive, I guess someone should keep an eye on you to make sure you don't go off killing people again."

"How magnanimous," he mutters. "Anyway, I'm staying in a hotel in the city. No way in hell I'm going—" again with the cutting off. Pan's starting to find this habit annoying, not in the least because each time it raises her curiosity by five. At that's really the crux of it, she knows: her curiosity. She wants to know more, understand more, figure things out about him. Even if he really is lying and pretending. All her misgivings and wariness are smaller in comparison to this desire to _find out more_. It's weird, and it's interesting and—and it's like an adventure, isn't it? Just a little.

Pan looks him over once more. "So, what. Do you want my cell phone number?" He rolls his eyes at her and then reluctantly nods; he has a cell phone too, prepaid, and Pan wonders briefly how he can afford this, his hotel room, his obviously new clothes. It feels weird to exchange numbers with him, and she barely ever uses her phone anyway. He tells her his number, looking it up first, and she programs it in. "What's your name?" she asks, unable to avoid it, when the phone prompts her to enter one.

"_Number Seventeen_," he says, very slowly, mockingly.

"Yeah, no, I mean, what's your real name? I don't want to type in #17 in my address book. My dad uses my phone sometimes when I leave it lying around and he has to call someone and he can't be bothered to grab the normal phone," Pan explains.

#17 seems to understand her point: at the _very least_, Gohan seeing #17 listed as a contact of his only child will raise a lot of questions. "I don't know my 'real name,'" he says.

Pan thinks for a minute. _Number Seventeen: _absolutely no part of that sounded at all name-like, and she found herself unable to think of any substitute names. _Hira _floats through her head, calling him that as a code—whatever, she thinks, realizing there was no real point in thinking deeply about this. _Number Seventeen. Jinzouningen Juunanagou. Juunana... _"Jūn," she says aloud.

He stares up at her. "What?"

"For a nickname," Pan explains. "Calling you #17 all the time is weird, and I need some sort of name to put in my directory."

"_Don't _start calling me Jūn," #17 snapped. "Do whatever with your phone if you have to, but I don't want any lame-ass nicknames."

"Okay," Pan replies, not paying attention and putting her cell phone away again. She realizes that he does look somewhat resentful, and she bites back a grin. "So, if that's all, I'm gonna go home now. Next time you want to stalk me, call me first," she adds.

"Yeah, whatever. If you get in life-threatening danger," #17 (Jūn, Pan thinks, almost laughing again) says, "you call me. This way I won't have to spend any more time around you than I have to." He stands and begins to walk back down to ground level at that, apparently not having anything else to say.

"Yeah, same here, Jūn," Pan says cheerfully, beginning to fly slowly upwards again. She's rewarded with a rude hand gesture. "Have fun saving my life, okay?"

"Fuck you," he says, and that's the last word.

* * *

x x x

* * *


	3. Don't Think About It

_**author's note:**__ version two of chapter three, here. the main changes are some additions to the end of the first scene, and some changes in the dialogue in the second, to make it a smoother and more natural read. the biggest change is that the second scene was originally in the forth chapter; it makes more chronological sense, i think, to put it here... that way, all of this chapter feature goten, and all of the next features pan. but even though everything is reordered, there are no major changes, so don't feel like you "must" read anything again (if you still want to, though, of course you may)._

* * *

x x x

* * *

Marron is pretty much the last person Goten expects to see wandering around the Capsule Corp., but there she is anyway... wandering. He sees her a moment before she notices him, and spends that time observing her with some bemusement. Although only four years younger than him, Goten has always somehow pictured the girl as much younger, closer to Pan's age, which was helped by her habit of wearing pigtails and childish sun-dresses. Today, however, Marron's hair is plaited and her outfit work-practical; canvas-colored workman's pants and a similar blouse. It is enough of a difference that it feels strange.

"Ah, Goten-san," Marron says when she notices him, smiling broadly and heading over to him. "How are you? It's been a while, hasn't it?" She claps her hands together after finishing, just once, and Goten's impression of _young _settles comfortably back.

"Ah, yeah," he replies. They are both in the back areas of Capsule Corp, the employees only section near the labs. Goten has been sneaking around in here since he was a kid; it's still usually the fastest way to find Bulma. Trunks is probably in his office if he hasn't snuck out of work early, but Goten is here on an errand from his mother before he can do anything social. "So what are you doing here?"

"Um," Marron says, looking nervous, "well, Bulma-san asked me if I would like to look at a statue she just received. But I don't come back here often and I'm a little... disoriented." Politer than saying lost.

"You're an art fan?" Goten asks. He doesn't really get it; art is nice and everything, but it's still a little weird that Bulma would contact Marron specifically to admire a statue.

Marron blinks, then shakes her head. "Oh, no. I'm an art _restorer_," she explains. Goten had known she had studied some sort of art thing in college, but this was otherwise new. "Apparently the statue was discovered north of here. But it was found in a crater; Bulma-san thinks it may have come from space. So she bought it really quickly and asked me to take a look at it. She said she wants to keep it quiet, so even though there are certainly more qualified people, she asked me."

"I'm sure you're pretty good at it," Goten tells her, smiling. She's humble, and it's weird. Why be humble all the time? Sure it's polite, but if you're good at something, you have to be proud of it. Marron pinks and nods. "Still," he says, "it's a little weird of Bulma-san to just trust you to look at it. What if it's dangerous or something?" He's remembering his childhood and Mr Buu, and the pod he had been hidden in. A statue is different, but still.

"It's also strange that the statue would be intact after something like that, isn't it?" Marron points out. Goten nods in agreement, grinning a bit. Apparently, Marron had thought of these things on her own. "I haven't seen it myself yet. It's _somewhere_ back here, but..."

"I was looking for Bulma-san too," Goten says. "My mom wanted to borrow some stuff and sent me. Wanna look together?" She nods and smiles and turns very slightly pink; Goten finds this all vaguely endearing. He's used to and good at hitting on girls, but Marron has never been someone he's been interested in chasing. Way too complicated considering how close their families are, and shy girls aren't really his type. Still, there's no denying she isn't cute, or that he doesn't enjoy flirting with her like this. There's a difference, after all; he knows it very well.

It's not a very long walk. The back areas of the Capsule Corp are crowded and twisted but ultimately small, giving the illusion of being sprawling only due to the sheer amount of junk filling the halls and rooms. Bulma hires interns and college students every year to do the menial work, and they find one of them at the same time they find the statue.

The statue is of a beautiful figure, feminine, Goten thinks—although who knows, it might well be an alien, a buff manly alien at that. The intern is definitely female, but not nearly as pretty; tall and gangly and somewhat rabbity. The statue is made of some sort of white stone that Goten assumes probably isn't marble (the only white stone he knows by name). The intern is tanned and freckled and has hair the exact color of—something very pink. "Hi!" she says when she notices Marron and Goten, as she stands and pulls off her work gloves to shake hands. "I'm Mint."

"Goten," he replies, after he decides Marron won't. "And Marron-chan."

"Ms Brief said you'd come by," Mint explains. "I've been running a few basic tests on this—did you know we think it came from _outer space_?" Mint is at least thrilled by this. Goten is unable to fake shock and awe, but Marron seems to try. Mint bites her lip. "Anyway, yeah," she says, tugging her gloves back on, chewing her lip. "It's all yours, Marron-chan."

Marron hesitates, pinks, and glances over at Goten. "You know," she says in a polite monotone, "I'm twenty-six."

"I know?"

"Isn't that a little old to keep being called 'Marron-chan' by absolutely everyone?" She seems close to pouting, and he grins down at her.

"Sorry. You're just too cute." She flushes more; Goten feels weirdly guilty for a second, but no longer.

Mint is chewing on her mouth again. "I'm sorry, Miss," she says. "I didn't know I was offending you."

"You weren't," Marron says, smiling. "I was just teasing Goten-san. Trying to," she adds; he gives her a thumbs up and she looks away. Childhood friend, he figures Marron is, although they were never anything close to—close. So it's weird talking to her, but easier than he would have figured, too. The intern excuses herself again, leaves this time. Goten figures he should excuse himself, too, find Bulma and then Trunks, but he stops and looks at the statue again first.

He had thought it was a feminine figure, and he still sees that—but there's more to it, too. There's a oval for the head, tilted up at the sky, rough features scratched in the stone. Her arms are thin but there is an impression of muscles—no, of straining—reaching or more likely pulling, grabbing with everything she has. Her expression is rapturous on one glance, strained on a second, afraid on the last. She is both frightened and joyful, and her entire body is absorbed in the one motion—_pull_. The impressions of her eyes are wild, her mouth open in a gasp or a cry. There is no real torso, the figure ending with the shoulders and the tops of the breasts, the stone going on for a few feet—the entire thing is human-sized—underneath the woman—but it doesn't seem to be incomplete. Maybe the woman is straining because she is turning to stone, Goten thinks, but doubts it. Or something. He really knows nothing at all about statues and art.

Marron has been absorbed in it, too, and she stares but circles a bit around it as she does, eyes going from one thing to another. The statue's rough face. The suggestions of fingers. The collarbone. The more Goten looks at it, the more human it appears. At first he'd thought it was alien, but now he's not so sure. "Huh," he says.

Marron bites her lip. "This is... I'm not even sure anymore what Bulma-san wanted me to look at. There's not a whole lot of restoration work—" She reaches out and pats at the stone of the statue carefully, runs her palm across a section of the woman's back. Bites her lip again. Goten looks back at the statue, hands in his pockets. He decides it must be good art—there's something about it, anyway, that makes him want to keep staring; that's what good art does, right?—and so barely notices that Marron has backed away until he hears her being sick.

He turns. Marron has found a garbage can in the corner and is holding her hair back with both hands, suddenly pale and suddenly green. She's sick again—he barely looks away in time, oh, nasty, geez—but she straightens after that and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, glancing down at the garbage can with distaste. "Huh?" Goten says, unable to think of any other reaction.

"Sorry." Marron flushes.

"You okay?" He doesn't go near her—not that he thinks she'll be sick again, or on him, but—it's just disgusting, isn't it? He feels a little queasy himself, watching her. "What, did the statue poison you or something?"

A joke. Marron seems to pale again. Goten thinks about it for a moment, then takes his hand out of his pocket and pats the statue himself, carefully, waiting to be sick. Nothing happens. "It was something I ate," Marron said. "Bad timing."

"Bad omens."

"Hundreds of people must have touched it before me." Marron looks defensive.

"Right, right." She frowns at him, looking like her mother, and Goten raises his hands, fingers spread, in surrender. "I agree. Bad luck. You sure you're okay?"

She nods, but she's annoyed—Goten's not particularily good at reading people, but Marron (little Marron-chan) can't hide her emotions for anything. "Don't you have to find Bulma-san?" she asks, lofty. Geez, Goten thinks.

"Don't you?" Geez, he thinks again. Sweet girl, Marron—he believes it, as he's heard everyone say it about her for years and years. She is a nice girl; that's rare and foreign to him, somewhat weird, but whatever. Except that she takes after her mother when she's annoyed. She glares at him; he shrugs. Dislikes conflict, that's Goten—he thinks, annoyed himself, annoyed _at _himself. _Always looking for the peaceful solution, my Goten_—okay, that's enough of that. He cuts off the memory before it can start. "I'll send her in after you when I find her," he says. Marron nods, looking a little abashed, a little pale. He thinks about cracking a joke on the way out and changes his mind. If he's learned one thing about girls in his years of dating, it's _don't push it_.

"She wanted me to look at this statue," Marron says. She reaches out, touches the stone again, and relaxes visibly when, Goten assumes, she doesn't immediately start throwing up again. "Therefore—" Her pause seems out of place. "I'm set."

"I guess so." Surely he can't just be imagining—the weirdness of all this. But she's taking it in stride, and—

"Go run your errand," Marron says, narrowing her eyes at him, when a moment as passed and he hasn't moved.

* * *

x x x

* * *

Goten finds Bulma easily enough, gets from her what his mother has asked for, this is all easily enough managed. He's meant to go home immediately after, to drop of the seemingly random assortment of supplies his mother wanted... but of course he doesn't. To his surprise, on his way to Trunks' office, he almost detours back to the basement where he assumes Marron is still hard at work. _Wonder if she's still sick_, he thinks, but shakes that off—that and all associated thoughts. _It couldn't have been a coincidence_—even though he'd never heard of an evil statue, and even though it hadn't affected anyone else, and, oh. Whatever. Best not to think too much about such things. He wasn't so close to Marron, at that.

But he knows, too, that he abandoned her—well, no. She'd told him outright to leave, more or less snapping, and he'd jumped at the excuse, but still. Not very—gentlemanly? Goten doesn't know. Doesn't want to think about it. It _had _been pretty lousy of him, after all, even if they weren't close.

Trunks had been working for his mother as the sitting president of Capsule Corp. since the moment he had graduated from college. Goten had, of course, been visiting Trunks at work ever since. He knows his way around all the offices in the complex, and most of those working in them know him, too. Still, as he wanders his way up to Trunks' office, Goten finds himself still thinking of Marron—first with mild worry, some sort of vague discontent, and then more distractedly. Come to think of it, he thinks, grinning to himself, she was blushing a lot, wasn't she?

Goten lets himself in to Trunks' office without giving his secretary time to warn him. Trunks doesn't start or even react much, beyond looking up for a moment from the piles of paperwork on his desk. Goten raises his eyebrows and shuts the office door behind him, walking over to lean over Trunks and his paperwork; a good half of the papers are covered in doodles. He's getting pretty good. "Do you figure Marron-chan has a crush on me?" Goten says casually, picking up a discarded drawing of what looks like Bulma. Distract me, he thinks as loudly as possible at his best friend.

"How the hell would I know?" Trunks retorts, grabbing the picture back. He's pretending to frown, but Goten of course knows him much better than that.

"She was blushing at me earlier, so I think she might have a crush on me. Won't my mom be thrilled?"

"Probably. Marron-chan probably likes _me_, though," Trunks says, with just a hint of loftiness. Goten and Marron aren't close, but Trunks and Marron speak even less. It's that childhood competitiveness, that's all.

Trunks maintains his straight face, but Goten grins. "Nah. I'm totally more her type."

"What type is that?"

"The, uh, mysterious and dark and tall type," Goten decides, then waves his hand. "You're just too _pastel_, Trunks-kun."

"You're not seriously going to date her, right?" Trunks looks wary. He begins doodling again, absent minded. It was a habit he picked up a few years ago, during board meetings. As long as it looked like he was busy, people assumed he was paying attention.

"Marron-chan? No way. Hey, I'll tell you something. Remember Palace? From two years ago? I ran into _her _again the other day." They'd dated for a few months, but Palace had started to talk about getting married, and Goten had broken up with her. He'd felt bad about it—he liked her. But he didn't want her getting the wrong idea, either. He starts to tell Trunks about running into her again, but Trunks is clearly not that interested. "Do you have any sex drive at all?" Goten asks innocently.

Trunks coughs, and then some more, pinking.

"Oh, it's that bad, is it...?" He's teasing, and Trunks knows—or should know—it. Trunks has never shown much of an open interest in dating, that's true, but he has been in several relationships, serious ones, over the years. It's just that he's discreet. "Your mom worries about you. She thinks you're—"

"—Yeah, I know." Trunks looks long-suffering. "Imagine, not wanting to tell my mom about my sex life," he adds dryly.

"Not that you have one. _My _mother doesn't even ask anymore."

"She's probably afraid to find out just how _much_ you sleep around." Trunks is still starting to grin a bit. "What is it, every woman over the age of twenty in Satan City?"

"Well, since I'm getting a bit older, it's more like over the age of twenty-five." Goten grins right back. He's fairly sure that their mothers both thought it would turn out the opposite—Goten would marry the first girl he met, and Trunks would live a life of manwhoredom. Maybe fusion had switched their personalities around.

"If you want," Goten says, "I can explain to your mom."

"Explain what?" One eyebrow raised.

Goten takes his time answering, looking among Trunks' doodles until he finds the one that is inevitably there—Trunks doesn't draw from his imagination, and all of his doodles are of the people he knows, sloppily drawn and often caricatures. Bulma, yelling with pointed teeth. Bra, in exaggerated make-up and even less clothing than usual. His father, glaring. _Goten_'s father, looking like even more of a cheerful idiot—there it is. Goten holds up a doodle of his niece, looking bossy and stubborn with crossed arms. "That Trunks-kun doesn't date much because Trunks-kun is a lolicon," he says, flashing the picture in Trunks' face.

It takes Trunks a few seconds before he responds. "I am not!" he snaps, but there's the delay, and both of them know it.

Goten crumples up the doodle of Pan, tossing it towards the waste-basket besides the desk. "Selective lolicon?" he suggests. Trunks stands up, hands on his desk, looking seriously annoyed. Goten knows he's pushing it, and quickly throws up his arms. "Kidding, kidding."

Trunks struggles to control his face, and tries the rational route. "It's true I like Pan-chan," he says, calm except for the tenseness in his arms. "_Not_, however, in a romantic fashion."

"I get it, I get it. Year in space and all that," Goten says. But he makes a note of it. It was just a joke, a stupid joke at that, and he hadn't expected Trunks to take it so seriously. Hm, he thinks. "I like her, too. She's very cute."

This causes Trunks to relax, strangely, and he sits back down, one hand propping up his chin in an expression of boredom. "Sometimes I wonder about _you_," he said. "You do realize that you're related to her, right?"

"But she's _extremely _cute," Goten continues, waving his hand. "Surely you agree?" He grins. Trunks grins back, knowing fully that it's a trick question and a joke rolled into one.

"Not my type," he says.

"I'm shocked! She's so cute."

"It's said that men like women like their mothers," Trunks says. "Pan-chan does take after your mom a bit, wouldn't you say?"

"I guess." This isn't really a subject Goten likes. "Met any Bulma-sans lately?" he asks.

Trunks makes a face, which is answer enough. "Why are we even talking about this?"

"Because Marron-chan is in love with me, possibly. I'll have to let her down easy," Goten sighs. "It's hard to be me."

Trunks rolls his eyes expansively. "I'm sure," he says, sounding every bit the haughty child he has since—mostly—grown out of. "I'm bored," he continues, continuing the part. "Let's sneak out the window. I'll buy you lunch." He doesn't like disobeying his mother without an accomplice. And when has Goten ever been anything else?

"By the way," he asks, one foot out the window with Trunks waiting in the air outside. "Did you tell anyone about that #17 thing?"

"The #17 thing?" Trunks is already preparing to change his clothes—undoing his shirtcuffs, loosening his tie—he can't stand to wear a suit any longer than he has to. "Should I not have?"

"Did you?"

"No." Trunks blinks. "It's not really my business."

"Right," Goten agrees, slightly relieved.

"Why, exactly...?"

"No reason." This isn't a lie. "It's just, I figure that, it'll turn into a big deal." Goten hops out of the window. "Am I supposed to close it behind me?" He's not sure how to shutter it from the outside.

"Nah, my secretary will probably check in on me soon," Trunks replies, sounding downright cheerful. Yup, Goten thinks. Same old Trunks-kun he grew up with—he acts more serious now, keeps a straighter face, but he still likes making trouble.

"I want hamburgers," he says. "Or something deep-fried."

"Whatever." Trunks looks somewhat impatient; it probably isn't a good idea to just hover here, right next to the Capsule Corp offices. Goten allows his friend to take the lead; they go higher, where there's at least cloud cover. "So why is #17 a big secret...?"

"Like I said, it's too much effort." Goten flips onto his back, flying in a posture of relaxation and lounging, his hands laced behind his head. "Everyone will be all, oh, tell me all about it, Goten, in great detail, Goten, and it's like, sheesh, I don't know anything." He flailed, mid air.

Trunks was grinning—which from him looked almost like a smirk, but Goten knows better. "Nice to see you stepping up."

"I did my part. I told his family he was back," Goten says, dismissive. He moves himself back into a more conventional posture for flying; Trunks is now leading the way to, he hopes, some sort of truly nasty-great fast food joint. "I think Pan-chan's crushed. She wants an adventure. Probably hoped #17 was her ticket."

"Another adventure?" Trunks scoffs, crosses his arms. "You'd think the first was enough."

"Was it?" That's an honest question. Goten's father is—if not dead, then close enough to it—_gone_, anyway—and everyone has noticed that Trunks and Pan both are close-mouthed about their time in space. It's not that Goten suspects there was any funny business—it's just a little weird, that's all. No remembrances or stories or anything, like the whole year never even happened.

Trunks gives him a funny look. "You'd think," he repeats.


	4. Unspoken Rivalry

_**author's note:** this is the second version of this chapter. as with the previous chapters, the scenes are reordered, the grammar is cleaned, and a few additions have been made to clarify and smooth out the chapter. the second half of this chapter was originally in the next chapter, which has been removed for the time being—it's now too short to stand on it's own, so i'll be fixing it, adding to it, and then writing another scene or two. thankfully i did all these revisions before the story got much longer..._

_oh, by the way, my greatest regret about this story is that i wrote in in the present tense. seriously. what the hell, me!?_

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x x x

* * *

Pan has, with everything that's happened, completely forgotten about Hirayachi. Not just their fight—his very existence had slipped her mind until two days later, right after lunch. Summer school was really no different than regular high school, just hotter, and by that point in the day, teachers and students alike were tired of the whole affair, listing about the cafeteria for as long as possible before resuming classes.

She's thinking about #17, but she hasn't heard from him since they exchanged phone numbers. Pan finds herself checking her call logs, waiting for a phone call, knowing there was no reason at all to expect one. Her parents had even picked up on it, her father sending Goten after her, to play the cool big brother and see if Pan had finally found herself a serious boyfriend. She'd played aloof and Goten had reported—she listened in from the stairs—that Son Gohan's only child was still pure and innocent in all ways and especially _those_. Goten could be a bit of a jerk, Pan thought.

But even then she hadn't thought of Hira. And up until he sits down across from her at the lunch table, Pan had remained completely Hira-free in her thoughts. She looked up from her notebook, where she had been doodling an elaborate panorama of one of the alien worlds she had visited two years ago (had she known Trunks also was prone to doodling, she would have been strangely thrilled, despite that it was a fairly common way of killing time). Hira stares back at her. "Yeah?" she says, finally, remembering belatedly that they had fought and trying to work up some anger.

He stares for a long moment, then looks away. "Hey, Son. Look." Pause. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry about the other day. Not the stuff I said, exactly, but... I shouldn't have tried to punch you. That was—that was a _seriously _shitty thing of me to do." He sounds sincere and angry at himself, and Pan, who hadn't cared one bit about the threat of physical violence, is oddly touched. "I have a shitty temper sometimes," Hira says. "I'm working on it. So I thought I'd—" he shakes his head. "Try and do the grown up thing and apologize."

He seems to be waiting; Pan catches on pretty quick. "Oh." She looks down at her alien landscape, then back at him. "I'm... kinda sorry, too. I mean, not kinda. I lost my temper too, I mean." She sounds too grudging. "I lost my temper and said some crappy things, too." This is—odd. She's been in fights before, verbal and physical, but never—never apologized, not like this, all formal and spelled out. Forgive and forget, that was how she worked—the only times she'd apologized out loud like this, for an argument, was when her dad made her, put her up to it. Is this what mature is?

And the part of her that still has a crush on Hira is proud, speaking faintly: _See, he's not just good looking, he's __**mature**_. It seems to ring in her ears, then she's aware she's flushing. "If you want, and I mean, I get it if you don't wanna, but I can call my grandfather and have him pick me up after school today and you can meet him," she says, all in a rush.

Hira turns pink around the ears. "That would be nice," he mumbles. "I mean—if you want. I'd... like that. I mean."

"Of course," Pan says, a little haughty, yes, but she feels better now, like she has some degree of control—like she can offer him something, too. Pan smiles at him. "Oh!" she says, suddenly. "Shit, I forgot." Hira looks alarmed, but she continues quickly. "No, it's no problem. It's just that I promised I'd meet Bra-chan—ah, she's a friend of mine, kinda, I mean, we're friends, but we don't always get along great, we're really different—" Hira probably doesn't care, so Pan changes the subject. "Well, I said I'd meet her, and she's in West City, and if I have _jiichan _pick me up today it'll take all afternoon—_but_ we can go visit him at his dojo or house, that'll be faster."

"It can wait for another day!" Hira said. "Son—I, um, Pan-chan—I didn't apologize to you so that I could meet him," he says. It seems to Pan like this is a different point, but she understands what he means.

"No, it's just—like, if I have him meet us here, he'll wanna go out to eat, and then out to coffee, and probably shop, and it'll be all day." Hira looks, despite the fact that he's trying to hide it, like he'd love to spend a whole day with his hero. Pan bites her lip. "You know what?" she says, "hang on a couple of minutes. I'm going to call Bra."

"Don't cancel your obligations because of me," Hira mumbles; he's trying to be polite, but at the same time, he can't bring himself to object when the ramifications of it involve meeting Mr. Satan. For real! His hero!

"You kidding?" Pan rolls her eyes. "I'm just gonna make Bra-chan come over here for once. If she wants to hang out with me so badly."

* * *

x x x

* * *

"Absolutely not! God!" Bra says a few minutes later, her voice tinny over the phone. "Your grandpa is _sooo _annoying."

"_**You're**_ _sooo _annoying," Pan retorts. "I'm always flying over there. You come over here for once." She had taken her phone outside, was sitting on the edge of a concrete planter filled with limp flowers at the school's entrance. She'd cited better reception to Hira, but she had really just wanted some privacy.

"Um, whatever! You're always flying over here because _you can fly_," Bra says.

"So can you!" Idiot.

"Not as fast! I don't even remember the last time I flew. I hate it. Maybe I'm afraid of heights," Bra adds, sounding hopeful. Bra, having never missed a year of school, is safely mired in summer vacation, and Pan figures that at this moment she's tanning in her backyard, wearing some sort of skimpy bikini. The jerk.

"Take a car then. Sheesh."

"Do you have any idea how long that'll take? Ick." Yes, Pan's sure she's sun-tanning somewhere. Bra's voice has an edge to it—faintly bored, faintly tired.

"Good thing you're not stuck in summer school or anything to delay you, then."

"Hm." And then Bra sighed in the longest way possible. "I _guess_. Why do I have to hang out with Mr Satan again...?"

"Because you're the one who wanted to hang out with me."

"Why did I want to do that again?"

"Beats me. I thought I was just some shrimpy martial arts freak."

"Flat chested, too." In addition to being taller, Bra's chest had grown substantially larger than Pan's. This was totally unfair. Not in the least because, since Pan was older, she felt that she _deserved _to look better than Bra did, by merit of age.

"Look." Pan looks around her to check for eavesdroppers. "There's this guy in my class. Hirayachi. And he hero-worships _jiichan_."

"_Oh_!" Bra exclaims. "I get it now! God, Pan-chan, how do you do it? Shrimpy martial artist tomboys can't _really _be vogue, can they?"

"Animal magnetism," Pan retorts. Bra's parents—and brother—keep her from dating, even though she's keenly interested in it. Pan's parents have more of a 'she'll learn from experience' philosophy, also knowing that she is safe from all assaults and rapes; that and Goten covers for her.

"Any details to tell?"

"None yet," Pan admits. She doesn't explain that until a few minutes ago, she had written off Hira entirely. "Look. Bra. For me. Do this."

"Fine, fine." Bra tries to sound magnanimous, reluctant, but she can't keep the excitement out of her voice. Pan never has luck with boys, but she usually manages her fair share of first—sometimes second and third—dates, and despite her being a—well, flat-chested tomboy, and despite Bra's often sluttish way of dressing, Pan is by far the more experienced of the two girls when it comes to romance. "I'll meet you—where?"

"You know where the school is?" Bra makes a vague sound that Pan decides means yes. Let her wander around lost if she won't admit she doesn't. "We're out at three. Hira-kun and I will meet you at the gate."

"Does he have any cute friends? Is _he _cute?" Bra adds, unable to help herself. There's something in her tone that Pan doesn't exactly like, some sort of irrational jealousy flaring up.

"He's monstrously ugly," Pan says. Bra laughs and hangs up.

—And then meets them, as promised. Of course Bra, more than anyone else in the world, will always have the newest and shiniest Capsule Corp. brand air cars. The company has in the last year introduced their 'girl's line,' sleeker, brighter capsule vehicles aimed and women. Bra has one in bright red. Naturally.

Pan is leading Hira, boggling, a little, at how quickly and smoothly this is going—so this is a friendship when you don't hold a grudge, she thinks. How foreign. How novel. She tires to be flip about it in her head, but in truth, it _is _novel, and that makes her a little uncomfortable.

Then she notices that Bra-chan is dressed to match her car, at the school gates, drawing stares and pleased at it. Sheesh, Pan thinks. They get along because they have to, they're expected to, and because they've known one another for so many years—but Pan doesn't think she ever would have chosen Bra as a friend on her own, and the feeling is almost definitely mutual. They're just too... different. They don't—can't—see eye-to-eye.

Bra is wearing a skirt that could double as a belt, a top marginally less revealing, and a pair of high boots that Pan actually does like, even though she begrudges the younger girl for wearing them—they make her even _taller_. Bra's always prided her long hair, and it stands out in contrast between all the red—sheesh, Pan thinks, again, unable to even grudgingly admit that the effect is striking. Hira, she notices, looks distinctly taken aback.

"Oh, no, did a wolf steal your clothes on your way here?" she asks Bra, suddenly, irrationally jealous.

"Oh, I'll say he did," Bra more or less purrs. Hira flushes. This is no fair at all.

"So, _Bra-chan_," Pan says with more force than is probably needed. "Shall we get going?"

Bra seems to be able to read her mind, suddenly, and smirks. "Of course, of course. It's nice to meet you," she adds, to Hira. "I'm Bra—"

"Hirayachi. It's kind of you to drive all the way out here from West City," he adds politely.

"Isn't it?" Bra looks like this is a novel idea. Pan tries not to roll her eyes. "I only just got my license last month."

"Poor you." Pan.

"At least I know how to fly... air cars," Bra retorts, the pause hardly noticeable. Pan has never bothered with any of that; flying by chi is so much faster. She narrows her eyes at Bra, who grins over at Hira. "Isn't it strange? She's a year older and everything but can't even fly."

"You're already seventeen?" Hira asks Pan, looking surprised.

"Yeah, I missed a year of school, remember?" Pan waves her hand, distantly annoyed at Bra's teasing. "I know I don't look it, but I'm a year older than you. Well, my birthday hasn't hit yet, but soon."

"We're the same age, Hira-chan!" Bra says, looking impossibly pleased. "As such, you should sit up front with me! Leave the old people in the back seats."

"Bra-chan," Pan says. She's definitely flirting with Hira now, and Pan doesn't like it. At all. She's not sure if she likes Hira or not—she's leaning towards yes—and she saw him first. Bra seems to take the unspoken hint, and rolls her eyes, giggling.

"Fine, fine. Girls in the front. Pan-chan has to tell me how to get to her grandpa's place anyway."

"If it's no trouble," Hira says politely, looking almost shy.

"Believe me, Mr Satan will totally love you," Bra says cynically. Pan knows her grandfather is an acquired taste—she loves him, and even so she finds him tiring—and takes no offense. She also catches Bra's point underneath the bland assurance: Mr Satan always takes to new fans.

On the drive over, Bra keeps trying to send Pan pointed looks—glancing over at Pan, then back at Hira, then making strange gestures with her free hand. Pan does her best to ignore all this, it not being terribly mysterious what Bra is thinking. Bra eventually catches on that Pan isn't interested in silent gossip, and gives the older girl a rather too knowing smirk before turning on the radio and turning her attention to the actual drive.

Pan feels a surprising rush of annoyance towards her friend. Is it really so weird that a good-looking boy would be interested in her? Is that really so novel? Do you really have to gossip about it while he's right there? You really can't wait?—she pulls herself out of her annoyed stupor when she realizes Hira and Bra are talking; not about anything important, just an exchange of basic information, and she feels that resentment again. Bra's just _pretty. _And charismatic, in a flirty sort of way. People don't always like her, but they always notice her. She stands out.

Pan is starting to regret calling Bra over and inviting her along. But she always forgets that boys—even mature boys like Hira—inevitably pick Bra as the more interesting of them. Pretty, rich girl who is tragically not allowed to date—much better than a plain-looking tomboy who isn't forbidden. God.

_Since when is this a contest_? Pan glares out the window. It's not—but she also can't help it. Okay, fine, she's competitive by nature, but... it just bothers her, that the first thing Bra does is dress provocatively, flirt and smile at the boy Pan saw first. At least when they arrive at her grandfather's dojo she'll have the upper hand again, she thinks, still ignoring the other two. Hira likes martial arts, after all.

* * *

x x x

* * *

Hira is not _quite _applauding but, Bra thinks, it's pretty close. He'd asked shyly about an hour ago if Mr Satan would please, maybe, possibly deign to do a little sparring, not with him, but with a student, or Son—when Hira suggested this, Mr Satan had laughed (and Pan and Bra had, too, but for a different reason) and said that while he would normally _love _to train his grand-daughter a bit, he was unfortunately suffering from a terrible stomach bug and could do no fighting today. So sorry. Perhaps little Pan-chan could do an exhibition instead?

Pan is a martial arts freak anyway, but she seems to jump at the chance to show off even more quickly than she normally would have. Bra had noticed her sulking in the car—and waved it off, whatever, if you want to seem like a brat, all the better for me—not that, of course, she was planning on—well. Pan had run off and changed into a gi, and has been beating up on Mr Satan's students for the past twenty minutes. Hirayachi, who hadn't seemed to notice Pan's earlier sulking fit (he had been paying attention to Bra—_ha, so there, _she thinks meanly), is paying rapt attention to the whole thing. "Amazing!" He exclaims, as Pan blocks a punch and throws the man who made it across the mat.

Bra is trying to pay attention, but she's never, ever cared for fighting. It's stupid. Not for any pacifistic reason—it's just _really lame_. Besides, she's seen this all before. "I guess," she says, and then sighs loudly in hopes Hira gets the hint.

"Mr Satan really trained her well! It's quite impressive. Of course, one would expect _him _to be amazing, but it's almost more impressive with Son, since no one would assume it from her."

Oh, I can think of a few people that do, Bra thinks. "She's a martial arts freak, all right," she says flatly, hoping that Hira will change the subject. He _is _cute. She'd wondered why he liked Pan—he seemed a bit out of her league—but she's pretty sure she knows now.

"She might even surpass him someday!"

"Yeah, maybe." My god, Bra thinks. She and Pan are friends because they are expected to be friends—and they like each-other because they are expected to—but they will never be close. Hanging out once every couple of weeks like this is fine, but too much time spent together drives both of them insane. Bra thinks she's going insane already. Here she is, sitting next to the cutest guy she's seen in ages, wearing a mini skirt and showing cleavage—and all Hirayachi can do is stare at Pan as she beats up men twice her size.

Bra regards Pan through narrowed eyes, considering the older girl. Pan's not ugly, or even plain, but she's no beauty, either. _Cute _is probably the best word to use—big eyes, that Son-family habit of always seeming to be a second from grinning, big ears and a heart-shaped face. But she's short—Bra isn't even sure Pan's cracked five feet yet—and skinny and muscular, almost flat chested and—no, Bra thinks, we gotta be fair about this. What she's tempted to write off as skinny and bony is _lithe _and _fit_, and even if she's flat chested, Pan also has great legs and a flat stomach—and never, ever gains weight. She's short, there's no beating around that, and she could use a hair style instead of just letting her hair grow however it wants, but...

Bra sighs. Fine, she's not _totally _unattractive. But Bra's sure she's prettier, and Hira's fawning over her is getting on her nerves.

"Do Son and Mr Satan ever spar? Have you ever seen them?" Hira asks.

"I'm not into martial arts," Bra says.

"Oh. Sorry." Her tone had been harsh, and Hira looks apologetic. "I guess I just assumed, since you and Son are friends."

"We're not really." Bra considers. "Well, we are, but only sort of. Our families are like, super close. My mom and her grandpa go way back, my _dad _and her grandpa" are both aliens "had this rivalry thing going..." she waves her hand. "And my brother and her uncle are best friends."

"Her grandfather Mr Satan, or...?"

"Son Goku." Bra resigns herself to the fact that this conversation is going to remain about martial arts. It's a hard subject to avoid in this family. She's sick of it. At least Hirayachi is giving her his full attention now. "He used to be the World Champion, before Mr Satan, you know."

"I—I didn't, really? Wow, that's so amazing!" Hira says, but he looks like he's faking his enthusiasm. "Her whole family fights."

"Mine too," Bra sighs. "It's a total pain."

"You don't?"

"God no." Bra shudders. "One, it's disgusting. Two, it _ruins _your looks. Just compare Pan-chan to me," she says, gesturing at her chest. Hira's eyes dart down, then back up to look at her face, his cheeks slightly pink. "Three—I don't know. A lot of people I know seem to have it _genetically_. The will to fight. I never have."

"Do you hear a lot of grief from your parents about it?"

"Not really. My mom just thinks I should spend more time studying, but she can't talk because she was _totally _worse than me when she was my age. But she wants me to help out _niichan _with the company when I'm out of school. As if." And Vegeta has just never cared one way or another. It had even been _Trunks _who had taught her to fly, the one time Bra had—well—well, that was besides the point.

"So you have a family business?" Hira asks, not seeming to pick up on the fact that Bra's face has clouded over.

"Mm. My family owns Capsule Corporation." Normally, Bra uses this line to brag—but. But somehow she's distracted. Trunks had taught her to fly. Vegeta had never cared if she fought or not. Isn't that weird? Hadn't _Papa _trained Trunks from pretty much infant-hood? Why had Bra even wanted to learn to fly anyway? She hated it. There is something she's missing in this picture. She doesn't remember the last time she thought about it.

Hira is shocked, and Bra realizes he's been talking—gushing—after a few moments. "—that before!" he finishes, beaming at her.

"Yeah, it's pretty impressive." Bra doesn't need to ask to figure out the gist of what he has been saying.

"Hey, you two," Pan says, coming up to them, beaming, her red gi soaked through in places.

"You smell," Bra tells her. "You actually broke a sweat?" Behind Pan, on the mats, Bra can see twenty or so of Mr Satan's students staggering about looking dazed and sore.

"Yeah, well, I _try _not to power up when I'm fighting hu—normal—people weaker than—" Pan trails off, clearly unable to figure out how to explain without referencing chi and aliens. "It takes more effort that way. In a way, it's better training."

Hira looks confused, but smiles. "Skill over brute strength, right?"

"Yeah, pretty much. It's easy to just punch someone out." Pan had pulled her hair into a ponytail for the sparring; she pulls the rubber band out now, her hair falling damp to her shoulders.

"Go take a shower and change," Bra says. "It hurts me to look at you."

"It's called a good work-out, Bra-chan," Pan replies, taking no offense. "It's how us normal people stay in shape."

"I am of the opinion that a _lady_ should never sweat if she can avoid it," Bra retorts primly. Pan went through a stage a few years back where she insisted she was a lady—not a child, not a teenager, not a woman—and Bra is using the word on purpose.

"No one likes a damsel in distress," Pan says blithely. After Goku died, that had become her new world view.

"I'll entertain Hira-chan while you're gone."

"I'm sorry you have to put up with that," Pan tells Hira, full of mock sympathy. Bra rolls her eyes.

He grins. "I'll try and endure. You were amazing, Son—I mean, Pan-chan." Glowing a bit. Bra isn't sure that he likes her romantically, exactly, but he seems smitten with her all the same. A good-looking martial arts freak, but a martial arts freak all the same. What a pity.

* * *

x x x

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	5. Marron

_**author's notes:** __finally, a new chapter—not just revised and edited more-of-the-same. the first half of the first scene is old (was in this chapter last time), but the second half and the entire scene after are both new—so this time, you actually do have to read the whole thing. to be honest, the second scene could easily have been extended (and will be continued in the next chapter), but since this is already well over 4,000 words, i thought it'd be best to leave it for next time, so that the chapter doesn't become too long... by the way, in the next chapter, pan and trunks should finally talk to one another. (laugh) i promise this whole story isn't just false advertising. i just enjoy set up and plot, so it took a little while to get them in the same room together. i also haven't forgotten about #17 (does anyone even care about him?) (laugh)._

_ah... i really hate to do this, but... thanks to this site's new hit counting system, i've discovered that **seventy ****different people** have read this story since the start of august; that's less than two weeks. and while i'm really appreciative for the hits, i'm a little bummed out, i admit, that only five people have reviewed it. i don't normally ask for reviews—i love them, but when it's forced, it's not as meaningful, you know?—but at the same time, that's a pretty depressing ratio. even if you hate this story, i'd love it if you just took a few seconds to tell me why—honest (after all, how else can i fix it?). just knowing that people care enough to take three seconds to say that they managed to get to the end of these chapters without passing out would really mean a lot to me. so don't feel pressured, but please consider, at least, reviewing?_

_i'll step off the soapbox now (laugh). please enjoy this chapter._

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x x x

* * *

She walks around it, and then again—and then, again—and it seems to Marron that each time she circles the statue, she notices something new and different about it. Here, see—the eyes, she had taken them at first to be wide open, staring up at the heavens, up at what she is reaching for—but now Marron sees, they're half closed, really, in a squint, for whatever it is is—too magnificent to be viewed in full. She's reaching for the stars and moon and sun, Marron thinks, entirely without irony. It's some magnificent trick of the stone, of the rough cut, that the details seem to shift and change like this.

Marron's practiced with paintings, of course—she _is _an art restorer, yes, new and inexperienced and no famous or semi famous name, but she's practiced on art school examples, peeling away paint and grime, adding color here and there, and slowly seeing something new and bright emerge—but this statue seems to do that _all on its own_, like a trick picture—the kind where you squint, cross your eyes and something pops up in the background. Usually a flying saucer. _Space statue_, she thinks. _Unidentified Falling Statue. _

—It is somehow hypnotic, these little changing—shaping—details. She keeps circling it, even though she knows that there's absolutely no restoration work to be done.

"It's impressive, isn't it?" Bulma asks, conversational, and Marron starts, literally jumps. The older woman is leaning by the door, arms crossed, blasé. Just about sixty now—although Bulma has refused to state her age on principle for ten years—the chairperson of Capsule Corporation is as always immaculate and lipsticked, even in work clothes and glasses. She looks good for a woman of her age, but she can't pass for young any longer.

"I—!" Marron exclaims, or something equally meaningless. She puts a hand to her breast and feels her heart beating wildly. "You startled me. I didn't even see you come in." She feels oddly disoriented, guilty.

"I gathered." Belatedly, Bulma smiles. "It's a nice change to see _someone _in this family absorbed in work," she says, pleased to be able to complain. "Trunks only pretends he is and thinks I don't notice, and _don't _even get me _started _on Vegeta! Prince of all slackers, more like, at least when it comes to things that aren't training."

Marron feels her pulse steady, relaxes. "Family?" She can't quite not ask.

"Oh, you know. Group. Gang. Son-kun-and-company," Bulma says. She sighs, waves her hand. "Old as it makes me feel. Yamucha and I were looking through some old—_really _old—photos the other day. When it was us, Son, your father..." sighs again, suddenly old. "Son-kun _always _picked up people and made them follow him. Animal magnetism. Of course, he followed _me _for a little while, but he was always... Oh, Son-kun always had _something _about him. And now... First it was him and me, and now his grand-daughter is the same age I was then and there are fifty or so in Son-kun's collection, originals _and_ descendants... And now he's dead, and the rest of us old folk are getting there."

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Marron settles for saying. She understands—thinks she does—but Bulma seems ready to continue in this vein for a while, and Marron isn't really in the mood.

"I'm sure us old farts have a few more years in us," Bulma replies, mouth quirked to show she's misinterpreting on purpose. "How's your father, by the way?"

"Fine." She smiles.

"You look like your father more than your mother, but I think you take after her," Bulma says dryly. "I take the hint. Us old people, we just like talking about the good old days."

"I'm sorry," Marron says. "I... I have a slight stomach bug, that's all. I don't mean to be impatient." She remembers throwing up, the taste of her bile, so sharp and bitter. But it still feels like lying.

"Is that so?" An eyebrow quirked. "If you're ill, you should have just stayed home. I wouldn't have minded."

"I'm fine." A little too forcefully. Marron smiles to compensate. "I'm happy to help. But... it's a lovely statue, but there's really no work to be done on it, in terms of restoration. The rough look is intentional. So I'm not sure how I can help you."

"Oh, no, I knew that," Bulma says. "One of the side effects of being wealthy is that a certain amount of knowledge of the art world is expected. Apparently you can't be a rich slob, and paintings are an easy way to play at sophistication." Marron forces a smile, wishing Bulma would stop replying in _paragraphs_. "But to study art restoration, you must study art, too?" Marron nods to confirm this. "I just wanted an expert opinion—while also keeping this quiet. You can swear people to secrecy, but it never holds, especially when Capsule Corporation is involved. Since we're already_ rumored _to have contact with aliens and so on." Bulma rolls her eyes. "The papers would love a Capsule Corp. conspiracy having to do with statues from space. They'd probably also love a more domestic scandal, but thank God that Trunks isn't an idiot and that Bra-chan isn't dating yet."

It's hard to keep smiling. Bulma's always like this, possibly because she knows somehow that Marron can never bring herself to interrupt. "I'm not exactly an expert, Bulma-san," Marron says. "There's really not much I can—"

"Nonsense!" Marron may not like to interrupt, but Bulma has no qualms. The woman finally moves herself from the wall, making her own slow circle of the statue. "If I wanted the best art analyst in the planet, I could get him. Easy. I wanted you because you're—you're in Son-kun's gang. You know about Saiyan and Namek and your mother is a cyborg."

"—She goes by human lately," Marron says primly. She never thinks of her mother as anything but a human woman, knows that her father thinks along the same lines. So what if that's not strictly true?

"Sorry, sorry," Bulma says, not sounding it. "My point is, you know all this stuff. And this statue—from space or not from space—is the same stuff. Son-kun's usual brand of weirdness. Haven't you already noticed?"

"No," Marron replies, and remembers throwing up. Bulma looks at her with her expression, for once, masked. She's not as stupid as she looks, Marron reminds herself—then wonders where the thought came from, why she would need to remind herself something she's always known.

"Well, most other people have. That is, _I've _noticed, and Vegeta when I dragged him in here—I wanted to see if it had some chi or something, an alien pretending to be a rock or such—he noticed it too. And some interns. People get—some of them—a little giddy, or chatty, or tired." Or cranky? Marron hardly realizes she thinks it—she's not cranky, after all. "I'm unaffected, so far," Bulma says blithely—apparently not picking up on the fact that _chatty _was one of her listed symptoms—"and so is one intern, Mint—she's always sort of giddy, which may be why—and it's not severe, but it's noticeable. And there's also the matter of the thing's appearance."

"...Pardon?" Marron has more or less stopped paying more than half attention to Bulma, merely nodding in the right places, her eyes focused on the statue's face.

"What do you see when you look at the statue? That is, what does it appear to be of?" Marron isn't sure how to answer, and thankfully Bulma—who definitely _is _affected by the statue, even if she doesn't realize it—continues on after a moment's pause. "Different people see it slightly differently. The expression on the face. The positioning of the hands. The form stays the same, but the details change. I see it as a woman, throwing her hands up to shield her face. Vegeta thinks it's a man—skinny man, but a man—that the tops of the breasts is the top of his armor. Maybe he's right." Bulma seems to doubt it on principle.

She's not straining, Marron wants to say; she's reaching out for something wonderful, wonderful enough that it blinds her and hurts her and—but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't know why, but Marron doesn't want to share her impressions of the statue. "Goten-san was here too," Marron says. "When I came in."

"Oh, right," Bulma replies. "Yes, I saw him a few hours ago. He's probably long gone, stole Trunks away with him."

One thing sticks out in that. "A few hours?"

Bulma's mouth twitches, but Marron looks too serious and surprised for her to laugh. "It's nearly six," she says, eyebrow quirked in a way that meant _I just noticed something about you_. "You've been here for four hours. Hadn't you noticed?"

"I got lost in my work," Marron says with a self deprecating smile.

"What work?" They stare at one another silently, and Marron seems to win—something, somehow. Bulma smiles faintly.

"Of course, I'll do everything I can to help," Marron replies, smiling.

"Even though you're not sure what to do?" Bulma nods, brisk.

"I understand that for some reason you think this statue is... weird... but even if it was, I don't know how to control chi well enough to so much as fly. If it was strange, there'd still be nothing I could do about it," Marron explains, placing her hand on the statue's back. It's almost a gesture of comfort.

"_If _it was strange?" Bulma's mouth quirks. "I just told you it makes people act strangely and people see it differently. I think both are strange."

"It's art. People perceive art in different ways. One might notice one detail of a painting and then overlook another. That's why people spend such long times discussing the symbolism of colors and shapes—not to mention the actual contents of the image. Of course people see art differently. The side effects that you mention," Marron adds—her voice is rising, although she doesn't notice—"are hardly noteworthy. An already giddy intern becoming excited at the prospect of a statue she's heard is from outer space? You, talking?"

"Beg your pardon?" Bulma doesn't seem confused. In fact, her face has become rather still. Marron doesn't know what to make of it. "So you're telling me that there's absolutely nothing strange about a statue found encased in a meteorite?"

"I'm sure aliens have art, too," Marron says. She struggles to control her tone—somehow, she's grown angry. Well. No. Not somehow. It makes perfect sense, really. Bulma's being an idiot. A utter fool. Marron can't believe she's the first one to notice and point it out.

"Then I suppose there's no reason to examine it any longer," Bulma says, suddenly smiling very, very cheerfully. She watches Marron carefully as she says so, notices the girl's hand—still on the statue's back—and how she shifts her weight towards it. "Thank you for coming in, Marron-chan. Please give my regards to your family." Marron doesn't move. "Is there a problem?"

"I see what you're trying to do," the girl hisses. Bulma keeps her expression flat and cheerful—but she raises a mental eyebrow. "You're going about all this in the wrong way, anyway. Clearly you don't even know—anything."

"You're right. Why did I call you in here to start with? I didn't think it through. My mistake." Smile, smile. But she's watching carefully underneath the smile.

Marron's mood shifted abruptly. "Like I said, I don't mind helping... in whatever way I can help," she says, thinking out each word carefully. Her frown, her stiff posture, the way she had drawn herself upright—all are gone. She moves her hand from the statue to her mouth, starts to chew on her thumbnail, then draws her hand away quickly. "I just... don't know."

"We've already determined that the statue is carved out of a fairly common rock," Bulma says, "but we don't know much else about it." She observes Marron's now relaxed, hesitant posture with some bemusement. She'd been writing off the irritability as another side effect of exposure to the thing, but she'd never seen a symptom simply _drop _before. There was the thought that it wasn't a symptom at all, but what Bulma knew about the girl's personality—while not a lot—still didn't seem conductive to... to whatever had just happened.

"I could perhaps look at the statue more... figure out what sort of tools carved it, that sort of thing." Marron suggests. There's the other thing. She keeps looking over to it. Some of Capsule Corp.'s interns look at it with excitement, curiosity, even wariness. Marron is so far the first to look at it so fondly, as if it is an old friend.

"Could you?" Bulma asks. "We're getting a sample dated, of course, but it will still be a day or two. If you could also... oh, like you said. The symbolism and so forth? As you said, I don't know much about art. Any information you could give me..." Bulma is, in fact, a good liar.

"I studied paintings, not sculpture, so I don't know what I could do," she replies. "But I'll see."

"Wonderful," Bulma says. "Now—I hate to duck out on you—but I have a few other errands to attend to. A Chairman's work is never done! Can I leave you alone?"

Marron's gaze is back on the statue. "Of course."

* * *

x x x

* * *

Bulma is not surprised to find Trunks home already—nor is she shocked that Goten is with him. The least surprising part is that the two half Saiyans are in the kitchen—a state-of-the-art area with several large refrigerators and restaurant-grade ovens. She can afford it and besides, with Trunks and Vegeta in the house, they come in handy. Bulma's never been able to understand how Chi-Chi manages.

The two boys—well, men—are sitting at the kitchen table with a small pile of plates between them. Goten is polishing off a sandwich, and Trunks seems to be at work making more. He'd never had an interest in cooking, but once he had returned from space, Bulma remembered her son suddenly putting an effort into things like that. "Goku-san and Pan-chan don't cook well," he'd said when asked, his tone neutral. She believed it.

"How long did you last today?" Bulma asks her son instead of a more formal greeting, and enjoys watching him look uncomfortable.

"I did all of my work."

"The summary of the current research and expenses pertaining to?"

"All the_ important _work," Trunks amends. "Mom, you can just _tell _me what you've been researching. You don't have to make me read a twenty page report."

"Are one of those sandwiches for me?" she asks Goten, who, grinning faintly, hands her one from Trunks' growing pile. It's stuffed with what looks like four or five different sandwich meats, some mustard, and no vegetables whatsoever. "Sweet of you to make dinner for your father, Trunks," Bulma says, after swallowing her first bite.

He looks embarrassed and pleased with himself. "It'll save us a couple of minutes complaining... but anyway, Mom!" Trunks tries to look annoyed again, but doesn't make it. This isn't the first time they've had this discussion. "There's really no point to the report. How do you know I even do read it?"

"I ask." Bulma smiles over at Goten. He's no better at hiding his amusement than his father ever was.

"And how do you know I'm not lying when I say I do?" Trunks has the air of one presenting a flawless argument.

"Because I'm your mother. Goten, I'm surprised you haven't gone home yet. Your mother probably wants those capsules." Trunks rests his forehead in the palms of his hands, defeated.

Goten looks over at him, then at Bulma. "I'm sure mother is okay for now," he says. Bulma has been promised by Trunks that Goten is normally quite talkative, to the point of not shutting up, but for some reason, he's never been that way around Bulma. He must be intimidated by her beauty.

"Capsules?" Trunks asks, pulling himself out of his dramatic frustration. He's in a good mood today. Bulma had in fact checked in to see how much work he had accomplished, and he really had done everything except her reports, so she's letting his leaving after lunch go without a lecture. He's clearly noticed.

"Yeah, mom wanted to borrow a couple—" Goten pauses as he reaches into his jeans pocket, pulling out a small case. "Number 852, 853, and—uh, 76-D?"

"That's two of the new air car models—they haven't been released yet—and a motorcycle," Trunks says. Bulma is somewhat impressed that he actually remembers. "What does Chi-Chi-san want with a motorcycle?" They all took a moment to imagine that. The boys both seemed to be trying very hard not to start giggling.

"Well, Chi-Chi's getting old," Bulma says. "And she can't afford to buy a car. So I offered to let her be one of our testers." Trunks seems to understand, but Goten still looks confused. Didn't you even ask what you were borrowing, she wants to ask him. "We don't just release our products onto the market as soon as they're built. We have them tested, drive them around and see if they explode or break right away. It's really unlikely Chi-Chi could be killed even if one did explode, so I offered to let her borrow the latest models free of charge so long as she kept an eye out for defects."

"And the motorcycle?" Trunks seems to be having trouble with this point.

"It's a gift for Videl. Her birthday's coming up." Bulma flicked her wrist. "You can't say I'm not generous!"

"Shit," Goten says. "Her birthday really is coming up. I forgot." He looks over at Trunks in distress, as if his friend holds the answer.

"She's already getting a motorcycle, so I don't know what other Capsule products you're thinking of," Trunks says dryly. "Just find out what Pan-chan's getting her and see if you can make it a joint gift."

"For a rich person, you're pretty cheap," Goten sighs. "She's my _sister_. I have to get her a present for real or my mother and brother will let me have it." This is more than Bulma usually hears Goten say at once, and much less cheerful than she's used to from him at that. Goten glances sideways at Trunks, who finishes the last meat sandwich and places it carefully on top of the pile. "Give me a car. No! Wait! I've got a great idea! One of those Capsule Houses." Goten looks triumphant.

"Those only have one use," Trunks points out. Once you put a portable house back in capsule form, it can never be used again. It's a money and storage problem: electricity and water and all the other amenities can't be recharged in a cheap fashion, and even if they could, that would jack the cost of the houses up by the millions.

"That's fine. Give me a really fancy one, I'll wrap it up all pretty, and then just say that it's 'a means for you and Niichan to go on a lovely second honeymoon.'" Goten nods. "Everyone will love my thoughtful gift."

"That I'm supposed to give you for free?" They stare at one another for a moment, Bulma watching with no small amusement. She wouldn't be surprised if they were continuing their conversation mentally.

"Hey, you know," Goten says abruptly, breaking eye contact with Trunks and addressing Bulma. "A while ago, Pan said to me, if there's ever a time I should require something of Trunks-kun that he refuses..." he looks thoughtful for a minute. "I should mention to him the name _Torance_. Isn't that—"

"Okay that's enough," Trunks says, his tone flat. Suddenly he's standing and leaning over his best friend, murder in his eyes. Bulma isn't sure exactly what's going on, but she grins at it anyway. Torance, _huh_?

"So, what, can I have the house?" Goten asks. He's suddenly wide eyed and pouting. "It's not like you can't afford it, Trunks-kun."

"It's nice to see a new side of you, Goten," Bulma says.

"A new side?" Goten looks confused.

Trunks finally seems to decide not to strangle him, and sits back down. "Mom means that she's never seen you act like a manipulative spoilt brat before," he explains.

"Oh." Now he pouts. "But honestly, Bulma-san, how do you think I put up with this guy for so long if not? It takes one to know one!"

"I don't think that's exactly what the expression means," Trunks says. "Plus you're making us _both_ look bad." Bulma stifles a laugh and helps herself to another of the meat sandwiches. Trunks and Goten continue to half bicker, half chat about a variety of random subjects, obviously knowing exactly what the other is thinking and going to say before it's actually said. Several times, Bulma notices one or the other of them setting up a line for the other to give the punch-line to, seemingly unintentionally and with no awareness that they are doing it.

Although Bulma likes nothing more than to talk, she's also content to watch them at it. It reminds her of—oh, of her and Yamucha. They'd becoming closer and gotten along better as friends than they ever had as lovers. And having known one another for forty years meant that they knew almost everything there was to know about one another. And they were much closer to be intellectual equals than she and Son-kun—a wonderful man, but not one to hold a serious debate with. Vegeta wasn't much of a conversationalist either. Must be a Saiyan thing. On the other hand, Gohan was usually good for a chat, but although he was a genius, too, he had no interest in science... Bulma's mind was wandering.

"Oh, by the way, Bulma-san," Goten says abruptly enough that Trunks looks surprised, too. "What's up with that statue thing?"

"What statue thing?" Trunks asks.

"If you'd read that report, you'd know," Bulma can't quite resist saying. Then she addresses Goten, "Did you... oh, that's right, Marron-chan said she saw you."

Trunks rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry for not reading the report. Now what's going on?"

"There's a creepy space statue from outer space," Goten explains, somewhat redundantly. "In your mom's labs. Marron-chan's examining it, did you know she went to art school?" Trunks looks surprised; he hadn't. Goten nods, helping himself to a sandwich. "Yeah, I didn't know either. Anyway, like I told you. I talked to her. That was where."

Trunks nods. "From outer space?" he asks his mother.

"Well, that's the theory. It was found encased in a meteorite." Bulma makes as if to push her glasses—an unfortunate testament to her age—up her nose, before remembering that she isn't wearing them. "I actually want you to look at it, too. Your father says it has no _chi_, so it's not a life form, and my preliminary testing doesn't show any sort of gasses or poisons being released by it—in other words, in all appearances, it's just a normal piece of rock. Except that people close to it exhibit strange symptoms. For example, giddiness or irritability. So far, younger people seem to exhibit them more frequently than older ones—I made all of Capsule Corp.'s lab workers spend time in the room with it to see, and no one over the age of forty showed any symptoms. Did you feel anything strange, Goten?"

"Like throwing up?" Goten asks, his voice suddenly sharp.

"Did you?" Bulma blinks.

"N...no, I didn't. But Marron-chan did. Right after she touched the statue." Goten now looks embarrassed. "Then she sort of yelled at me to get out, and I didn't really want to get involved, so..."

"Compassionate," Trunks says. "I thought you were supposed to be good with girls?" It's a joke, but he looks concerned more than amused. Goten laughs nervously.

"Did she..." Bulma trails off into thought.

"Is that a normal symptom?" Trunks asks. It's his turn to take a sandwich from the platter; as he does, Goten grabs a second.

"No, but." Bulma takes a moment to think before continuing. "I'd called Marron-chan in because she majored in art, just to make absolutely sure that it wasn't from earth. This was before the initial tests were done, but it was a few days before she could come, so I knew it wasn't by the time she did arrive. But since she's in her twenties, I thought I'd use her as another blind test. It's no good to tell people going in that the statue gives them symptoms; half the time people will just imagine they have them as a result. When I went to check in on her a little while ago, however..."

"She had symptoms," Goten finishes. "Really strong ones, more than any of the others, right?" It wasn't a hard guess. Goten now looks worried—probably because he had abandoned her earlier. Trunks also seems concerned.

"That's right."

"So you sent her home, right?" Trunks asks warily.

"She didn't want to go home. In fact, she was downright hostile when I suggested she leave, and then went out of her way to suggest reasons to stay. And I don't think she's aware she's doing it, so I decided to let her keep staring at the thing."

"It could be—evil! Or something!" Goten says loudly.

"It doesn't have a _chi_. It's not alive. And all symptoms go away when the person affected leaves," Bulma says. "It's not like I'm going to leave her in there all night. If I have to send Vegeta in to drag her out, I will. But this is the fastest way to figure out what the statue _is_, and I intend to do so."

"What if the statue is like Baby?" Trunks asks. "Possesses Marron-san? Or what if there is a poison, but one so foreign that we can't detect it? We don't have the Dragonballs to wish her back with, if she dies."

"Like I said," Bulma replies cooly. "I'm not going to let it go that far. Trust your genius mother."

* * *

x x x

* * *


	6. Sneaking Out

_author's notes__: argh, sorry for the long delay. i started a new job, got completely busy with real life, and had trouble with the second half of this chapter, which moved in a completely different direction than i had been planning. i'm also really starting to dislike writing in bra's pov (laugh). i find it very hard to get a feel for her character. i guess that's understandable since she's such a minor character, though. (laugh)_

_it's a little tricky, because i need the "hira plot" to move and get to a certain point before the "#17 plot" can progress, and until that happens, i have to hold off on the "marron plot", a bit. i guess that's the problem with stories, though. hopefully, by mashing it all together like this, things will move more quickly, if a bit more awkwardly (in terms of writing)._

_please, if you have any concerns or complaints, mention them. i especially worry because bra's pov is so hard for me, and because hira is an original character—i know how that goes. he feels more like a plot point than a character to me, but still, if you have any complaints, please tell me, you know? (laugh)_

_and please enjoy this chapter.  _

* * *

x x x

* * *

_Trust your genius mother_. It's not like Trunks doesn't, but at the same time... it's not exactly like he does, either. He knows better than most people how reckless his mother can be, how cheerfully she can jump into or create danger in order to test, or see, or experiment. Besides, Marron can't even use _chi _well enough to fly. It just seems - wrong to use her as a guinea pig. He can tell Goten wants to say more on the subject, too—Goten's always been the moral one—and he waits for that to happen. He'll back Goten up, always has, but he doesn't really like starting arguments with no purpose. He knows his mother well enough to trust _and _mistrust her, but also well enough to know that she doesn't give in when arguing. Ever. It's mostly a waste of effort to try.

So instead Trunks helps himself to one of the sandwiches he'd made earlier. Goten spends another moment looking uncomfortable before doing the same. His mother doesn't seem to notice or care, so Trunks stops thinking about it. "By the way," she asks after making herself a coffee and settling back down again. "Where is everyone?"

"Dad's out back," Trunks says—by which he means training—"and Bra's out somewhere. I haven't seen Grandma or Grandpa, but the animals have been quiet, so I guess they're around." Bulma tolerates her parent's ever-growing zoo, Bra finds the animals cute, Vegeta hates it, and Trunks has always just disliked the dinosaurs and avoids the menagerie when he can help it for that reason. They're tame and friendly, but being coated in dinosaur spit because one felt like licking you is always uncomfortable.

"I see." His mother smiles at him after a beat. "My God, Trunks. You've become so responsible in your old age. What happened?" This also isn't a new argument. Trunks settles for rolling his eyes. Goten, an ungrateful friend, snickers.

It's just about then that the buzzer rings—even though Capsule Corp is half labs and work stations, the living quarter is still large enough that Bulma had years ago hooked up an intercom system that also alerted the residents to visitors in addition to letting one communicate with other rooms without screaming or crossing the compound. A moment later, the unmistakable sound of teenage girls chattering becomes clear, as Bra—and Pan, it seems—heads towards the kitchen. "—What?" Bra's voice, lofty and loud, reaches the kitchen a moment before she does. "It's just a phone number."

"Yeah," Pan says. "The phone number of the _guy I like_." She sounds significantly less lofty, but any further argument is cut off when they turn the corner into the kitchen and find the people there listening in. Trunks notes with mild amusement that both girls immediately grow wide eyed in exactly the same way, both flushing—Bra for being caught talking about dating despite knowing it to be forbidden, Pan—probably because her uncle is present, Trunks decides.

"Which guy? Hiya?" Goten says cheerfully, not seeming to notice the awkward air of things.

"_Hira_!" Pan snaps. "His name is Hira and I didn't ask you, _uncle_."

"Contractual obligation," Goten says.

"Hira?" Trunks' mother says, raising an eyebrow at her daughter.

"Oh, come on _mom_," Bra retorts, in the exact tone Pan had just used on Goten. "This dating rule is really stupid anyway."

"And I'm—" Pan seems to hesitate. "You know. I saw him first."

"It's just a phone number. What, I can't be friends with a boy?" Bra asks this question of Pan and her mother at the same time, glaring at them both for daring to presume.

"Nope," her mother says.

"Oh, come on!" Bra whirls around at her. Bra and Bulma look very much alike, but Bra's face is sharper, her mouth thinner—traits she inherited from her father, features that make her look that much angrier when she is. "This dating rule is totally lame! Like you didn't date when you were my age! Like Trunks didn't!"

"He didn't," Goten tells her. He is ignored—by her. Trunks takes the moment to glare at him, however. He's glad to be left out of this shouting match and has no idea why Goten wouldn't feel the same. Pan's face is flushed and she's moved away from the doorway, where Bra still is. Trunks assumes she wants to distance herself from the match, too.

"I did," Bulma confirms, and looks pleased with herself—a touch Trunks at least could have done without. "But it's my duty as a parent to make sure you don't get to date until you turn twenty."

"Eighteen!" Bra yells. "And you're being totally unfair!" She looks at the other three in turn, clearly trying to get one of them to stick up for her, to no avail.

"There's no point in having this conversation in front of guests," Bulma says.

"How the hell are they guests?" Bra crosses her arms and slouches.

"Basically," she replies, "you get away with everything. You have no rules. I can't be bothered to keep an eye on you, and you wouldn't listen anyway, and your father seems to be allergic to it. And Trunks couldn't be authoritative if he _tried_." Trunks is annoyed by this. "So I figured I'd make one arbitrary rule for you be absolutely forced to follow. And it's that."

"That's such a stupid way of parenting!" Bra keeps getting louder and louder.

"You could just erase Hira's number from your cell phone," Pan suggests quietly.

"Your jealousy is showing," Bra retorts.

"Why should I be jealous of a girl who can't date?" Pan says. Then she seems to flush slightly and glance over at where Trunks and Goten are sitting. Of course, it probably was sort of stupid to talk about crushes in front of her uncle, Trunks figures.

"Well, I should get going," Trunks says, deciding he's had quite enough of this.

"Me too," Goten says.

"Don't you have a delivery to make?" Trunks asks him.

"Wanna get rid of me?" he replies.

Bra has meanwhile resumed her argument with her mother; Trunks this time tunes it out completely. Pan seems to be paying closer attention to the men than the women—he can't blame her. He's actually a little surprised that Pan would fight over a guy. Something about it seems odd. "Sort of," he says to Goten.

"What delivery?" Pan asks.

Goten tells her, then turns back to Trunks. "You still haven't given me Videl's present."

"Mom's? For her birthday?" Pan blinks. "Hey, I haven't bought her anything yet either, so can we share?"

"No." They grimace at one another for a moment. "It's a _sexy present_," Goten adds with a lot of unneeded emphasis. "Do you really want to give your mom a _sexy present_?"

"It's not for another few weeks," Trunks tries to point out. "And I still haven't agreed to give you a capsule house."

"_Trunks-kun_," Goten whines. Between him, Pan, and Bra's continuing rant about dating, the kitchen is quite noisy. Trunks decides to solve this problem by getting up and leaving. Goten follows, of course—Pan hesitates a moment and does the same. With two members of the Son family trailing him, Trunks decides not to make his retreat a particularly long one. The moment his mother and sister are out of hearing range, he stops.

"So am I getting the capsule or what?"

"Look—" Trunks starts to say; he's already decided that he will be giving Goten the capsule, but he still wants to argue, just for the sake of appearance. Problem is that Goten also realizes this. But before he can finish his sentence, someone's cell phone rings. Loudly. In the tune of the theme song to a popular cartoon. Both men stare down at Pan, who blushes spectacularly and pulls it out of her jeans pocket, turning away from them as if that will mean she's alone.

"Hello?" Pause. "Who is—_Jūn?_" She holds the cell phone in both hands and speaks in a lower voice as if that'll give her privacy. Trunks doesn't exactly want to eavesdrop, but Goten is clearly doing just that. "What do you mean 'I thought you'd be calling me by'—if you wanted me to hang out with you, then you—" Pan flushes some more. "Fine. Okay. I'll see you there," she says stiffly, before hanging up.

"Jūn?" Goten says. "Two-timing Hiya, are we?"

"No! I'm not! Jūn's—" For some reason, Pan glances up at Trunks and looks uncomfortable by the act. "Whatever! I gotta go meet him."

"Hey, wait a sec—" Goten moves in front of her before she can charge off. "It's already almost seven."

"So what?"

"So, your dad's gonna be mad at me if I let you go and hang out with mystery boys at night." Goten crosses his arms.

"Just don't tell him." Pan looks anxious to get going.

"That's not how it works," Trunks points out.

"If you tell on me, I'll tell Grandma about whats-her-name. Madrid? and Roma?"

Goten winces when Pan says this. It's something of a low blow. "Fine," he says. "But I'm not going to cover for you if you come back at three in the morning. Or wait up for you."

Pan nods, not looking terribly grateful, and takes off through the hallways, not headed for downstairs as much as a window that opens. Goten watches her go, frowning slightly.

"You cover for her?" Trunks asks.

"She covers for me." Shrugs. "Pan's pretty transparent, though, and I've never heard her mention a 'Jūn' before..." Sometimes, Trunks wonders if Goten and Pan are more like siblings than he is with his own sister. They certainly get along better. Nevertheless, Pan's boyfriends are not a subject that interests him.

"But geez," Goten continues, "when did she get so old, anyway? It makes me feel old. Lame." He feels the same.

"But if we can move on from that?" Trunks says.

"I guess, if we have to..."

"Also... Madrid and Roma?"

Goten grins. "Twins." He looks very much like he's daring Trunks to ask for the details—he's sure there are plenty—so he doesn't ask. Just to piss Goten off. Besides, twins, seriously? Bastard.

"I'm hungry," Goten says once he gets the message.

"Knowing my mom and sister, they're still at it," Trunks points out.

"Then let's go out to eat."

"Again?"

"You can afford it." Pause. "Let's go get take out."

"Why, specifically?"

"You're such an adult," Goten pouts. Trunks resists the urge to point out both of their ages. And hit him. Goten continues more seriously. "If we get takeout, we can share with Marron-chan. She hasn't eaten in, what, five hours? She must be hungry."

"Don't you mean, she hasn't left that statue in five hours?" Trunks asks—but he agrees. With his Saiyan blood, he can't picture turning down a meal; the logic seems just as sound to him as it does to Goten. "It doesn't really make up for leaving her there," he adds.

Goten's eyes narrow slightly—Trunks only sees because he's looking for it. "That's not exactly the point."

"So it's part of the point?"

"So should I just leave her to it, then? Don't _you _feel guilty?"

Trunks shrugs. "Not that I don't feel bad, but..."

"But you don't want to go against what your mother said," Goten says, cutting in. They stare at one another for a second. "It's not like I like going against my mom, either," Goten adds, looking away.

Trunks breathes in, and out. "What kind of take-out?"

* * *

x x x

* * *

Bra eventually cuts the conversation short in the best way she knows how—flips her hair back, crosses her arms, stomps to her room. Her mother lets her, doesn't even argue. It's not like Bra doesn't mind having easy going parents, being able to do what she wants, but then she does mind, too, at times like this. Times that she isn't getting her way.

God knows why. She flops down onto her bed face-first and lies like that for a few minutes, completely still, empty minded, breath hot and legs jutting off over the end. Unthinking. Not like she ever does. Finally, Bra rolls over and unzips, pulls off, her boots. Her socks. Removes her gloves and accessories, takes off her headband and pulls her hair into a loose bun. Strips completely and changes into jeans and a blouse. Clothes suitable for sulking in.

She's rich. One of the richest people in the world, and even richer when she reaches legal age. And she's pretty, and those are the only two strong points she has. Looks and the money to accent her looks. That's all she has. Which is why it's so unfair that...

Bra pauses in buttoning up her blouse. Designer, of course, latest style, ultra fashionable, cut to show off her breasts and stomach without having to reveal, either. It's actually one of the most conservative tops she has, and. And?

—And when that's all you have, when the only good things about you are your looks and wealth—you deserve to use that, right? All they get you is men, so for her mother to take that—

Bra reaches over to her night-stand and picks up her cellphone. She doesn't know many people whose names start with H—Hira is right at the top of the list. He picks up on the second ring, and Bra's frown—she's like her father when she frowns, she hates it, her brow becomes so much heavier—immediately turns into a coy smile. Even if he can't see it.

"Hira-chan?"

"Oh! Um," there are scuffling noises, and Bra can hear talking in the background. "Sorry, I'm—my family, hang on," Hira says, quickly, flustered, and a few minutes later he speaks again from somewhere quieter. "Hello?"

She's unreasonably happy not to have had to introduce herself. "Hi! Since you gave me your number, I thought I'd call you, you know?"

"Well, yeah." Pause. "I mean, not that I mind! I just wasn't expecting it—you know, two hours later."

"Was I interrupting?"

"No, not really. No," Hira says. "Dinner was over and everything, I was just watching television with my sister and her family."

"Anything good?"

"Uh, old _tenkaiichi budoukai _footage." He sounds embarrassed. Bra is moderately glad this is over the phone so he doesn't have to see her roll her eyes.

"You want to hang out?" she asks him, eyeing her bedroom window.

"Tomorrow? Maybe the day after would be better, I have tutoring tomorrow afternoon—"

"Like, now." Without Pan acting as supervisor, she means, but has the sense not to add.

"—I." It takes Hira a moment to form an answer. "It's not like I wouldn't want to, but I can't get all the way over to West City, and you can't exactly zip on over here..."

"Yes I can," Bra says, walking over to her bedroom window. Capsule Corp's living quarters are above a series of labs and the greenhouse; she's on the sixth floor. Even so. "I'll meet you at Satan City mall in an hour, okay?" She hangs up before he can reply; he'll be there, she's sure. If not, she'll just call him again.

Time to see how much she remembers about flying.

Trunks had taught her when she was eight or nine, and it takes Bra a few minutes of standing still and feeling stupid to remember how to focus, reach her ki. For the fighters, she knows, it's automatic, as easy as moving, but they have years of practice. A few minutes later, she manages to float a few inches in the air, wobbling only a little. Not wanting to fall six stories to her death, Bra floats in place for another ten minutes, to make sure she can keep it up. It gives her a headache, but she stops wobbling, remembers how to move and adjust her speed and height.

She drops to the floor, pulls on a different pair of boots, and opens the window. She only flies a few blocks, slowly and deliberately, before landing in an alley, walking to the street and pulling out a capsule car. No way she was willing to risk flying across the continent on her own power.

West City was the economic center of the world, but Satan City was quickly becoming the cultural center, even at a quarter of the size, and despite the proximity to East Capital. It was Mr Satan, the city's namesake and world's hero, that was making Satan City prominent and important, and for that reason that the city had been growing steadily for the last thirty years.

Satan City Mall wasn't as sleek and classy as West City's many malls, but it was large, and had a little of everything. It takes Bra much longer than an hour to get there, but she finds Hira waiting for her in the food court anyway, looking nervous and drinking a soda. This time of night, the mall is emptying, lights dimming, and Hira looks like he's afraid he'll be kicked out. "Sorry I'm late," she chirps.

Hira shakes his head. "It's fine. I—" he looks around him, seeming to check for eavesdroppers. There's no one. Just a few tired looking people eating, and a janitor mopping across the court. "Son's here."

"What?" Bra says, too loudly. People turn to look at her. "You're kidding me! This is ridiculous. We're going somewhere else."

"You don't want to see her?" Hira stands up in a hurry, following her as she marches back the way she came. He leaves his soda behind.

"I can't escape!" Bra snaps, throwing her hands in the air. "I thought she was supposed to be—uh, and she'll tell my mom, and that'll end well, and what's a good girl like Pan doing at the mall this time of night, anyway?"

"She's with a guy," Hira says quietly. She whirls around to face him. Her first reaction is annoyance—Hira seems upset, and that's—well, good for him, getting dumped, except—

"What do you mean, a guy?"

"A guy." Hira shrugs, puts his hands in his jacket's pockets. "Good looking. Black hair. I didn't see them up close. They were talking."

"Black..." She bites her lip. "Look, what did he look like? Was it spiky? Was he pretty tall?" Could be Goten. Even Gohan. Or really a lot of people they knew.

"No, it was straight. Longish. I don't know. When I saw them, I headed the other way."

"Are they still here?" Pan has a secret boyfriend? Bra can't just leave that news alone. She has to see. First Hira, now another guy? How pathetic was Pan? Sleeping around, hitting on everyone...

"I don't know. It was right after I got here. Forty minutes ago." Hira puts an odd stress on the time. It takes Bra a second to realize he's trying to point out how long he's been waiting for her, and she's amused.

"Well," she says, "forget them, then. Who wants a girl who can't settle on one guy?" Hira flushes and looks away. "The movie theaters are still open. Let's go."

He doesn't immediately follow her. "There's a new action film," he says slowly.

Bra's back is to him. She rolls her eyes. "Fine, whatever you want," she says. He catches up to her.

They walk to the theater complex together. Connected to the mall, it's open later than the rest of the shops, and therefore more people are milling around. The carpeting is cheap and red, the walls are cheap and purple, and leaning against one of them is a tall, good looking boy, talking to a short girl. Bra stops short and grabs Hira's arm; he stops, too, startles and then looks over at Pan and her boyfriend when Bra points.

She'd thought Hira was much too good-looking for Pan; this guy is even more so. At first Bra wants to charge up for maximum embarrassment, but then she notices that Pan doesn't look happy as much as annoyed, and her boyfriend's feelings seem to be the same.

There are floor-mounted movie posters surrounding them on two sides. Which Bra figures is probably why they chose that corner to talk in—for the privacy. However, it also makes it fairly easy to sneak up on them. Hira looks alarmed and stays behind, so she does it alone.

"—Stupid," Pan is saying.

"Oh, come off it," the boy replies. Something about him and the way he speaks is familiar to Bra, but she can't place it. From where she stands, hunched over between two posters for _The Cell Games IV: RETURN OF CELL_, she can see Pan mostly from the back, and the boy not at all.

"Whatever! I've been waiting for you to call me, and you're all—"

"See? You were waiting."

Pan flushes. "Not like that! You're the one with the stupid—stalker complex."

"'_Stalker complex_?'' he mocks.

She puts her hands on her hips and glares at him until he answers.

"I figured you would have called me three seconds after I gave you my number. You didn't."

"Yeah, sorry for having a life. Why so desperate to talk to me?"

"I told you that already," he drawls.

"Sorry if I don't completely believe—" Pan cuts off as the boy steps forward, silencing her with a gesture. Next thing Bra knows, he's leaning over the top of the movie poster, smirking down at her.

"We're being watched."

Pan has to go around the display to see Bra, and her reaction is at first shocked rather than angry, as Bra had expected. "How long have you been here?" she snaps, after a few seconds of blinking.

"Only a couple of seconds." Bra tries not to look embarrassed. "I'm on a date with _Hira_, you see," she adds. This is enough to throw Pan, who looks around wildly until she sees him, then turns bright red.

"Oh God..." she mumbles. Hira begins to walk over to them, looking just as embarrassed.

"More importantly, who are you?" Bra asks, whirling around at the dark-haired boy.

He considers for a moment, or seems to—his face remains blank. "Jūn. I go to college in town here. I'm a big fan of Pan-chan." He speaks smoothly, but Pan seems surprised by the explanation, and he doesn't appear very emotionally invested in it. Bra figures it's a lie.

"And how did you see me?"

"I saw you sneak up on us," Jūn replies. "I'm surprised Pan-chan didn't. How shameful," he tells her, smirking a bit.

She's bright red and looks like she can't decide whether to be confused or angry. "Whatever,_ Jūn_," she snaps.

"So you two are dating?" Hira asks, nervous and speaking for the first time.

Pan and Jūn look equally horrified. "_No_." Pan follows up by moving closer to Hira, biting her lip and burning red.

"So what the hell are you both doing at a movie theater, then?" Bra asks.

"It's a long story," Jūn replies. Again, when he speaks, it sounds like he's reading a line. Natural enough, but there's a pause, a slight delay like he's thinking up an answer, a slight detachment like he doesn't really care. Good looking guy, but Bra's only thought is _suspicious! suspicious! _"Since we're all together like this, why not go see a movie together?"

"What?" Pan snaps. "No way. For so many reasons."

"Yeah," Jūn says, "but I really want to see this film." He nods his head towards the _Cell Games: IV _poster. Pan turns to examine it, too, and her mouth twitches. She looks up at him, and they seem to agree on something without speaking.

"Yeah, fine, okay," Pan says. "But it's not a double date," she adds, glaring over at Bra.

"Whatever you say," she retorts, and steps closer to Jūn.

* * *

x x x

* * *


End file.
